Gyrfalcon's Keep the twisted nails of faith

his answer was simple, monosyllabic. for some it would have beckoned the end of conversation. caiaphas overturned the syllable in her mind, shaping it along her tongue. their provinces seemed forever split -- their undying allegiances irreconcilably different. she thought no less of lasher for his predilection, as she assumed he thought no less of her for hers.

"the sea would heal those wounds." she commented dryly, making the first mention to the blemish that grieved his smooth hide. she did not await an answer, or even an explanation -- with fluid movement the waif rose and sauntered towards the frothy water, settling along the white-capped cusp of gentle shallows.