Ocean's Breath Plateau [bhediyon] Bag o' bones

It took time for Whip to grow accoustomed to living with others again. They were not the sirens of the coast, and though the others of the plateau had proven that to him time and time again, Whip found it all too easy to fall back into old habits. It was easy to sprial inward; to regard the kind souls surrounding him with fear and distrust. The echos of Themiscyra lingered like thick fog, unwilling to break.

But he tried. He took to assimilation at a distance -- never straying too far from the whole, but keeping his space. He kept to himself mostly. Silent. A wallflower watching from the outside in. He wondered if they looked at him oddly for his withdrawn nature. He often told himself that they should.

The others made it look so easy. Laughter. Joy. How he wanted to feel those things, remnants of a childhood shed so long ago. He watched from a distance greedily as they tumbled and played, secretly wanting to join in the fray himself. Or perhaps just to know what it felt like to feel something agian. His body told his story; how it bowed with want, but remained fearfully rigid.

But still, he was unsure.