Blackwater Islands Oh Comely

Akantha herself couldn't be sure as to why she was allowing her guard to fall in Whip's presence. Aktaie, her mother, and Meteora all would disapprove heavily if they found out. But she thought back to her first year as an adult and how kind Atlas had been despite their differences—appearances were one thing, but was there really a reason for their discrimination against them? The Matriarch caught herself before her rumination went too far, unwilling to admit that she doubted, even for a second, their way of life.

When Whip began to tire, she followed him to the shore until she was only submerged up to her chest. Whip's question was enough to reignite that characteristic irritation in her and she snorted derisively. Her brows knit together and she frowned, "Because our kind has been around since time began, and we have key memories etched into our blood. Some call it instinct, others intuition, but everyone has it. Even those not returned to the Mother." She hauled herself out of the waves and brushed past him as she found a sandy spot between the tide lines and flopped down upon it. 

The fire in her eyes dimmed again, and she expelled a heavy breath through her nose. Her gaze sought his own, and her ears peaked atop her skull. There was something thoughtful in the twist of her mouth. It was neither unkind, but it was not warm either. "Do you understand your position among us, Whip?" She asked, desperately wanting to snuff any doubt from his mind, but unwilling to throw that wall up between them just yet.