The Sentinels i'm a foolish fragile spine

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she had never seen the sea in all of its wrathful glory;  the songbird was wrought from the forest and its subtleties were intimately familar to her now; the solemn wonder of rain as it fell, the secretive whisper of leaves.  the ocean was something else entirely.

ava stood between the jagged teeth of the decimated sequoias that she presumed had once reared sentry to the churning brinewater below, and the gentle cup of her ash-tipped ears turned back as she observed how the waves crashed savagely against the steep walls of the stone face that shouldered the forest.  

secure in her solitude the woman of fire and bone lapped up the sights like an eager and starved hound, and she raked her milk tea gaze over the churning brine below until she'd had her fill.  with the waves at her back, she disappeared back into the red-armored conifers.

 

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