Barrow Fields tessellate

There were few things that Komodo thought more about than his eventual return to Undersea. He would return — he had promised — and it was what Reigi wanted, anyways. If anything, Komodo was a man of his word… and his ladies. He always gave them what they desired, even if [as Seelie wanted] that desire was time away from him.

He thought about the little sheepdog and the little babies she surely mothered. Had it been that long? Time was sometimes a fuzzy concept for him, a vagrant who did not often stop to measure hours and days and weeks and months, but here it astounded him. Komodo thought about what the pups looked like and what they sounded like; what their names were and which wonders of the living world that Coelacanth was teaching them. Did she speak to them, using her voice — and if she did, what did she say? He could only imagine the types of silent conversation that passed between mother and child, and how vivid those children must be.

But then, Komodo would look at the raven to his side, and he found that it was easy to muse upon such subjects with happiness rather than jealousy. He did not fall victim to such blatant displays of avarice often — and it was a relief when he realized that true contentment lay in the hands of the other voiceless women and her strange, wild type of affection. She kept him guessing in a way that he could rely on. Even when she waxed and waned, the earthstalker never found it in himself to look away from the spectacle. Perhaps he had truly misjudged he and Seelie's impassioned avocations after all. 

So that’s how he found himself at the end of his journey, so close to home. Was this still home, now that things had changed so drastically? The roughhewn man lifted his nose to the winds, attempting to scry the salinity of Undersea’s milieu from many miles away. He could not sense the island as he once was able, but he trusted that the islands, and the familial love that Seelie proffered so freely, was still there; just beyond the mists.