Stavanger Bay oh the demons come, they can subside

<3 !

they are beckoned from their guardian's side by the honeyed call of thalassa, a bittersweet gift following the grief and terror of the moonless night. the echo of pontus' song guides the wolfdog to the shore — through the forest shedding verdant shades for gold and flame, over the stretch of glimmering emerald turf and into golden sands. tremulous limbs carry them to their mother's side, oblivious to all else; the eternal song fills their soul, spilling forth to the land of mortals through the conduit first in the form of a low, melodic howl. the sound rises and carries, haunting, morphing into words unrecognizable to any not born of amaranthine — the tribal tongue of the telkhines, ancient as the world itself, a language as fluid and eternal as beloved thalassa.
yet the song falters and dies within their throat before its completion, smothered under a sudden, crushing torrent of grief. "oh, mother — why?" the telkhine cries out weakly, fierce shivers gripping slender limbs. the wolfdog folds without warning, lowering to the sand with head tucked low and ears slicked back, salt-stiffened fur splayed in all directions by the disruptive movement. in a moment, the world ceases to exist, save the sea and self. thalassa is silent now, stoic. into the white noise of the crashing waves, nausicaä's heart beats a melancholy chorus against the tender cage of their ribs: amaranthine, amaranthine, amaranthine.