Ankyra Sound 'Cause my dad's office door's always closed but I stopped knocking

She ran. She called. She cried.

She broke her dance to come to him and he let her chart the way. And when she found her way to his embrace, he laughed, he smiled, in ways once known to him before the Gilded Sea had swallowed him, before his father was the fire and his mother the rain.

He sought to hush with a quiet word, I missed you, and would rest in her embrace.

Thinking a long time of the words once spoken to him, when his mind had been clear of the mushroom’s effects, when his feet had finally followed Reverie here. He would think, even as they spoke together, walked together along the beach. Sang and danced in the waves.

Of seabirds, of safety, of a dancer on the shore.

And he would ponder these things even when the night grew quiet and voices stilled and his thoughts were the only voices left.