Ocean's Breath Plateau times could be much worse

Anyone from the surrounding areas, please! Open to any/all.

It took a few days for his lumbering figure to cross the rolling plains, but he did eventually. The scent of the salt upon the wind was disparaging at first. It caused a bolt of energy to rush up the back of his neck, of all things; he felt unnerved and out-of-sorts in a way he couldn't recognize. He avoided going too close to the sea. The sea was dangerous. It was alive, it was angry (with him specifically, he thought), and so he kept to the blanket-like expanse of autumnal grass for as long as he could.

Gradually the brine on the wind became less and less noticable; the boy became nose-blind, adapting to it and feeling a sense of calm slowly descend upon him.

This too was strange, for Tryphon worried too much and too often. He did not feel soothed by anything in this world except for the proximity of Saghani, and she was absent. There was something about the sea that filled him with fear, but it was almost like that fear trancended him. It was more like awe. And in a surprisingly daring effort to test his limits, Tryphon did eventually choose to leave the hills behind for the coast. He did not get close enough to sprint across any sand bars, snap at any crabs, or be swallowed up by the abyss that was the Mother — but the plateau  he found was sufficient.

As he crept up and through the craggy hills, rounding upon the tooth-like rocks that jutted all around him, Tryphon felt his anxiety rise up in him like a great wave. He stopped walking as he caught sight of the horizon from atop the expanse, his toes gripping to the edge of rock, and his eyes fixated like a pair of burning stars upon the distant deep blue of the sea.

Then, he turned his head aside and brought up a wave of bile, which splattered and saturated the rocks at his feet.

It was the wind that spoke to her, her guardian, her voice. It was he who blew away the mundane clouds of mortal trappings and cleared her mind so that she might utilize the eye that was her mind. It was he who had given her her gift, and it was he that she worshipped above all else. Within the sentinels the wind came gently, a stirring breeze between the trees. To the south there lay a wood in which she was cut off entirely from his voice.

By the sea the wind was a wild, passionate thing. On the heights of mountains it was dangerous, its caprice could fling wolves from their heights. He was a dangerous patron, but Starbuck loved him. And so she would climb heights and brave the seas. Nowhere else had she found that worked so well as the plateau, where the passion of the wind meeting the sea was compounded by the rocky heights. And so it was there she wandered when her mind grew clouded and her heart confused.

Upon the plateau she found another, a creature no more startling than any other wolf. Yet Starbuck did startle, as the moment she laid eyes on him he bent his head, vomit splattering against the rocks. Gone was any caution, and Starbuck trotted towards him boldly. You seem unwell. May I help you?

He was unwell, but he wasn't. There was no sickness that plagued him (that he knew of), and the moment the acid left his tongue, Tryphon felt better, but also mostly confused. He did not know why he felt so agitated by the presence of the sea. It was still quite a hike away from him — merely a shadow on the horizon, a dark swatch of twinkling blue — but his body was filled with tension as he looked out at it. The voice that came upon him was a surprise too; it was kind, but Tryphon had not expected to have company in this strange place, and his platinum scruff prickled with an electric ferality.

While he did glance at her, hear her, Tryphon's attention led his eye back down to the mess at his feet. He stared down at it as if to study it. Maybe to will it back in to his stomach? He made a strange little face at it, and then adjusted himself - stepping back and facing the woman as if the whole throwing up episode hadn't even happened. At this point he scrutinized her, and cryptically pondered aloud, Are you here... on Her behalf?

Had he inadvertently called her forth somehow?

The acrid smell of bile and acid wafted to her, and for a moment Starbuck's nose wrinkled at the smell. It was unpleasant, but he must have been feeling worse, and she would not offend him by displaying her disgust. Yet he seemed unfazed by this development, merely looked down at the contents of his stomach splattered upon the rocks. He turned and looked upon her, his gaze pinning her searchingly before he spoke.

Starbuck cocked her head, curious. She understood Her to mean Deirdre, for who else would send her forth? The seer shook her head. I am here on no one's behalf of my own, she said softly, for she saw his distress and her heart ached for it. She longed to comfort him, though she knew little of him, only that he was under some kind of duress and that she could help. Will you tell me what is wrong? Perhaps I can help you.

A free woman? Unfettered by the will of the sea? How strange. It seemed only fitting for a coastal wolf to align themselves as the Nereides did; yet when she responded, Tryphon was glad. Her eagerness to learn about him was a bit off-putting, but only because he wasn't accustomed to others showing any semblance of care for him — not now, not since he'd failed his last family.

This was different. They were alone together, and she was not obligated to look after him. They were unaffiliated with one another. So then why did she ask? Why did she care? His brow creased, and he responded with the same low and lethargic tone as he always spoke: I have nothing for you, the boy bartered, as he could not fathom why this woman would offer her services for free. No food, no power, and no intention of owing a debt — and as Tryphon thought of these things, he bristled against the sea wind.

He turned from her and stared out at the dark band of sea in the distance, but then dropped his gaze to his paws, and quietly admitted,
The sea... Makes me ill.

I have nothing for you, said he. Starbuck's mouth opened in a soft o-shape, for she thought she understood. That is fine. I ask nothing of you, she said. If you wish for me to leave, but say the word and I shall be gone. But if you will, I want to help you. Even if the hurt was not physical, she thought a few gentle words and a listening ear could still do much for a troubled heart and mind.

She followed his gaze across the plateau to the ocean, a mere dark ribbon in the deep. That is wise, she said. The sea is a ravenous beast. The unwary are at her will, and her will is most never mercy. But there is beauty to it as well, do you not think? She blinked, then strode up beside him, caution in her every step. Come, perhaps if we leave the sea and instead look upon the sprawling earth...? she trailed off, unsure of what the outcome would be. Perhaps he would feel better?

She mentioned leaving, and he instinctively pulled back from the ledge and the puke-stain and looked to her, at first dead-on to her face, then h is gaze dropped to watch her paws. Almost as if he were waiting for the inevitable departure, but knowing he would be overwhelmed with sadness again once she was gone. Tryphon was incredibly needy and lonely. It did not matter who had found him, he would have eagerly done anything to keep them from vanishing — and not been aware of this desire in himself at all.

When he admitted to his fear, he thought there would be some kind of... Ease. An acceptance lit with a halo of light from the heavens, perhaps. Something dramatic. But he still felt the sickness in his gut and it made him bitter. The stranger offered herself with words, tempting him away from the edge of the plateau, and he solemnly followed her.

It is not... beautiful, he managed to say with his quiet, shaky voice. It... She, he wanted to look back again because -- no, he did not love the sea, but it was alive and it was a part of him, and it only felt right to regard the entity which he spoke of, as one might a mother or a sister, even if they were hated as vehemently as this. Yet he kept himself staring straight ahead, his eyes tired. She devours. I was... lucky, but, but... the man shook his head and fell silent.

He had survived his near-drowning as a child, but at what cost?

He followed, bearing his solemnity like a heavy mantle over his shoulders. The weight of it would soon crush him, of this Starbuck was certain. She kept pace with him, leading him away from the norhtern-facing edge of the plateau and more towards the center, where all that could be seen was the edge of the night.

And, as she had promised, she listened. He did not see the beauty of the ocean, only the terror. Starbuck was not surprised, then, that he was afraid of it. The sea was bitter steel, a cold edge. She was a sword well-weilded, she was a great and terrible beauty. He insisted on calling the sea She, which Starbuck would not begrudge him. And when he spoke his last, tapering words, Starbuck understood.

He had drowned, or near enough. Sit, she bid him as she settled, first on her haunches and then sphynx-like upon the ground.

What could he hope to achieve here? The sea called to him and he tried not to answer. This was as close as he dared to get, and even this was too near. The woman led him away from the ledge and to safer ground; but Tryphon knew that She, the ocean, was always there. That She would always be linked to him in some manner. And then, when given the order to sit, he did so without really contemplating the action — and only realized he was seated later, when Starbuck relaxed before him on the ground. Tryphon looked around them as if expecting something dire to occur, or some trick, but there was nothing. He settled his gaze upon Starbuck thereafter and waited.

He was obedient, to say the least. He followed when ordered to and sat when told. Starbuck's heart ached for him, and she understood his dream-like demeanor to be a dissociative episode. When he was settled, she very carefully nosed at him, the touch gentle and kind. Will you tell me your name? she asked, both curious and keen to get him talking of something besides the sea. It was clear that his near-drowning had left him with scars beyond the physical. She feared that continuing to speak of the sea and his trauma would not help and would only do him further harm.

He focused on her as best he could, trying to rid himself of the constant tumutluous thoughts of the sea. There was a whole ocean inside of him — or so it felt like — but the man did his best to contain, and to ignore. When the stranger spoke, the question made everything harder; his response was just as sullen as his previous statements: She calls me Tryphon. And so he had become that person.

Tryphon. Do you like that name? Starbuck asked. There was no doubting who She was- the sea, for whom he seemed to have a healthy respect of an and unhealthy fear of. Did he resent the name or charish it? Perhaps she could help him change it, or at least find peace with it. Names were a mysterious thing, to some they carried great meaning, to others a moniker meant little.

Did he... like it? The question seemed queer to him. It was not something one was asked about their name. Tryphon could not recall being referred to with any other name, although he knew that the sea had granted him this one - and upon reflecting upon it, he wondered what he had been before Her, because surely he must have been someone. A concerned furrow creased his features and this time it stuck. He didn't know how to answer because he'd become so involved with his own thoughts.

When he finally had a grasp on them and managed to stow them away (perhaps only temporarily) he raised his shoulders, unsure. I... don't know, he quietly responded. The name, and Caiaphas, had been his anchors to the living world following the near-drowning; he had no knowledge of the baptism that took place in truth, only the panic and the taste of the sea on his tongue. He did not realize it had been Caiaphas - and the Nereides - who had purposefully held him under. When he'd arisen the name Tryphon had been fast on his mother's lips; but that too was a lie, she was no nearer to being his mother than this stranger before him. Again, though, that was information he was not privy to.

Is it.. important? The boy deflected, his ears folding back as if to stop the thoughts in his mind from leaking out, and he looked down at the dirt around his paws, becoming more reserved.

She merely watched as emotion and memory marched across his face. She put no effort into reading into anything she saw, for whatever lay beneath his exterior was as tumultuous and dangerous as the seas he feared so much. When he admitted he did not know, she nodded. That is fine, she said. We never know everything, that is where the joy in life lies. The mystery.

He went on, and Starbuck nodded sagely. Names have power, dear Tryphon. But only if you give it to them. A name can be cast off, if one wishes, she said. She would plant the seed of the idea, though she was unsure if shedding the name Tryphon would do any good for him.

He was curious of her intended purpose; of what she hoped to achieve with such a question. But there were only vagaries flowing from her tongue, and so Tryphon withdrew a bit. He shifted his weight, placed one paw across the other, then switched them, and seemed to become antsy. What she said made him uncomfortable. To cast of his name meant... Well, he wasn't sure. His face crunched with thought, and he seemed to frown down at the dirt.

Then, after some reflection, he summed up what ran through his mind: If I cast off... Tryphon.. What — who, would I become? Someone new? Or would he just be masking himself? It was at this point that an odd image settled in his mind. A foggy figment, something half-realized, of a pudgy baby boy with a red cape - and the name, Yellowbelly...? He whispered it, blinked, and returned to drifting through his thoughts.

It was unnerving. It was familiar and not familiar at the same time; and the boy! Tryphon remembered - or just chose to picture - someone who was so young, but so bold and different from himself. He was flummoxed by what he had recalled, not seeing it for the memory that it was of his very forgotten, very beloved brother Valtyr. 

His fur raised along his spine and he sucked in a shaky breath, and then shook his head. I was named by my mother the Sea — it was an honor. She chose me. I live... I live because... I survived. He couldn't quite wrap his tongue around that though, and resumed to shaking his head.