Ankyra Sound out of chaos came the light

he lost it.

it's gone gone g o n e...

he is empty

b r o k e —

he is seeking blindly in the dark, fingers wanting needing to brush against something familiar. a feather. the fur of the suns of his life. the stars

fingers touch nothing. curl around empty air.

the salty seabreeze is relentless as it batters around him but it is a fierce comfort. scarab clutches it 'round him, swimming first in the ocean — cold so cold; to bathe. to repent — and then rolls around in the sand. it is the closest he comes to wrapping it around himself as a child wraps its favorite silkie close. this place is empty.

empty empty empty

but healing.

the sound is his home.

absent his lost petrified sandpiper, separated from his family ( of his own doing, he knows ) and covered in sticky seawater and grating sand he shivers his way up the moontouched beach, leaving blue will-o-wisps in the water as he steps, seeking the heart of the sound and further the grotto that rests beneath it.