Stavanger Bay let me redefine god into something i can become

I apologize for the neverending stream of lackluster posts, and for the colossal wait. ♥

The burbling bubble of laughter that spills from Qilaq’s muzzle causes Szymon’s narrow skull to swing around sharply in surprise; he hasn’t heard her laugh as a result of him before, and the result is a strangely ticklish feeling that swims uneasily in his gut. It’s not the same feeling of dread and miasma that occurs when Qilaq is fretful — it’s vaguely pleasurable, if a bit discomfiting. The corners of his scarred lips quirk into a roguish grin as she, too, shortens her steps and begins to kick up sand; and when her gangly legs start propelling sand in every direction simply because they can, Szymon laughs along with her. “Silly cub,” he comments mildly, loose and easy enough that he can keep the stutter at bay. “Is that fun?”

It’s in the back of his mind that he needs to teach Qilaq to swim — the Drop is in her eminent future — but his first intention is to take her to freshwater so she can clean the blood from her mouth. For the moment, though, he hesitates only briefly — and then with a solemn expression that is incongruous with his motions, he begins to mirror the girl as she mirrored him only moments before. Long legs, notched with scars and fresher scabs, kick sand out in waves; he’s careful to avoid Qilaq so that he doesn’t incite Doe’s wrath by blinding their only daughter, but he can’t see the enchantment. His childhood, peppered with stress-induced seizures, beatings, and abuse, hasn’t prepared him for fatherhood — he knows only what Qilaq shows him.