@Bajeera, here, kitty, kitty, kitty~ ♪
A summer storm had broken out over the sea — its angry winds and choppy waves flowed outward like blood in the water, visible and palpable but altogether distant. Szymon watched as it raged, imagining the storms that had raged above Warsaw from time to time; and his glittering golden eyes clouded with memory. The sky here was humid, aching for lightning and rain to shatter the clashing fronts and find some semblance of order through chaos, and he shifted his shoulders irritably as his skin prickled uncomfortably with it. There was nothing for it, then, but to throw his body into the waves and fight the current, strengthening muscles that could little afford to go lax and complacent. Without a second thought, Szymon dove in, dipping his head easily above water, eyes open and observant despite the sting of salt that plagued him. Testing the fitness of his lungs, he remained under as long as he dared, flinging his narrow head up with a gasp after a prolonged time. Swimming outward, he found the push of the current and swam against it.
An unknown amount of time ticked by before he turned back, letting the sea propel him in a series of undulating thrusts toward shore; he rode the final wave and melted from the whitewater like a beast crafted from the seafoam itself, shaking his body vigorously when he touched down on the coarse sand. It was this point he realized he was several miles away from home — near the sea lion bulls and their harems. Skirting around the shoals, he avoided the hilly area occupied by the shrieking gyrfalcons and found a landmark beating to a quieter drum. The river and its glassy deltas appeared to Szymon somehow, and he made his way there, eager to see whether there were prey animals or herbs that could find a place in the pack’s caches. Ever wary of the sea and her capricious nature, he watched the incoming storm and remained close to the shoreline, paying little attention to the mirror-like wonders he strode through.
An unknown amount of time ticked by before he turned back, letting the sea propel him in a series of undulating thrusts toward shore; he rode the final wave and melted from the whitewater like a beast crafted from the seafoam itself, shaking his body vigorously when he touched down on the coarse sand. It was this point he realized he was several miles away from home — near the sea lion bulls and their harems. Skirting around the shoals, he avoided the hilly area occupied by the shrieking gyrfalcons and found a landmark beating to a quieter drum. The river and its glassy deltas appeared to Szymon somehow, and he made his way there, eager to see whether there were prey animals or herbs that could find a place in the pack’s caches. Ever wary of the sea and her capricious nature, he watched the incoming storm and remained close to the shoreline, paying little attention to the mirror-like wonders he strode through.
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Messages In This Thread
don’t say you hate me; you don’t mean it - by Szymon - July 16, 2016, 06:46 AM
RE: don’t say you hate me; you don’t mean it - by Bajeera - July 16, 2016, 01:07 PM
RE: don’t say you hate me; you don’t mean it - by Szymon - July 16, 2016, 06:09 PM