Sea Lion Shores the halls of our fathers

As the strange female regarded Szymon, so too did he regard her — her eyes, bright blue and wary, were a refreshing change from the colorless pools of his sister’s loathed visage. She splashed into the shallow water at the shoreline, closing the distance between them; he was not surprised or made uncomfortable by her nearness, but his stance shifted slightly to accommodate for the change. He balanced his weight evenly between his legs, feeling the shift of sand beneath his webbed toes, and knew that the close proximity to the Sea would lend him an advantage should the situation go awry. “I’m fine,” the female said, but though she attempted to keep emotion from sharpening her tone, it was evident even to Szymon’s tattered ears. The Cairns did not speak of emotion and so he did not offer her questions or comfort; he merely accepted her statement with a quiet nod of understanding.

“Do you live there?” The blue-eyed girl jerked her head toward the bay and Szymon watched her fixedly, his sulphureous eyes keen as he nodded again, his narrow skull dipping affirmatively. In case his gesture was not clear, though, he verbalized his response: “Yes.” His response was simple, even stoic, but a thrum of pride sang briefly within his bass timbre. Still, he wondered whether the place was significant to the wanderer. “Y-You are f-f-familiar w-with the b-b-bay,” he guessed, not phrasing it as a question, tattered ears thrust forward intently to catch her reply. “Who are y-y-you?”