Ankyra Sound i want something more than, more than restless mornings

Dawn draws the golden boy up on puppet strings, a lift of the conductor's baton, his cue to begin again. Bleary-eyed, exhaustion smudged into the lines of his expression, Garland tugs himself into consciousness bit by bit. It's several hours before he finds the energy to truly stir.
@Pumpkinn, The greeting comes out hoarse, wavering a little, half a question. His head lifts first, stormy gaze seeking his companion — but it's the sky that catches his attention first. Glassy green-grey, clouded over, a pale reflection of the sea below. He shivers, imagining cold water through his fur. I want to go swimming today. The words fall from him softly, unbidden, and his eyes drop to fix on his companion after a moment. Come with me, he almost says — but something keeps him quiet. He imagines it's the storm in his heart, the raging of bitter waves against what little remains of him. It's hard to reach for anything like companionship through the onslaught. The best he can do right now is survive.