Cerulean Cape A spoonful of tar

The angry pack-wolf had been young but he had taken her threat seriously.

It was nothing out of the ordinary. When he traveled with the Soldiers the locals had always viewed them with suspicion. Strangers in a strange land. He saw the unbridgeable distance between himself and what he thought of as the "real", civilian world. The girl with vibrant hair and eyes and him with his one-note days, encased by the amber of routine. It had been a rediscovering of electricity.

He lay awake in the night, her green eyes flashing magenta in their ghostly, floating inverse, forming and reforming every time he blinked. The sea breeze swept over him, and grass tickled his temple. He nuzzled his face against the dirt so that only one eye stared, reflecting the swaying silhouette of the reeds and the stars overhead. Sweetharbor, he thought, not wanting to forget.

He did not sleep.