Sequoia Coast sea billows roll

Dinah had slowly begun to realize that Judah, too, was not to return.
For the most part, she had ignored that possibility; maybe he went looking for them, the first time they left, or— something.
He'd find his way home. He'd find them.
But hours of waiting had spun to days, and now their dad is dead, and while it remained unspoken between all, the assumption that brother is dead alongside him had begun to strangle the harborwolves.
How does one survive this kind of pain? Why can't you tell the world to stop spinning; why can't you tell it to wait for you until you're ready?
But there was no readiness. Time would never be enough.
Dinah's stomach had begun to send pangs of hurt from how little she ate in the passing days. Her mind had been shot up, up, up into the air and out of her skull, way out into nowhere, and it left her with basal instincts: Feed. Sleep. Protect. A robotic, ugly, monotonous scrape-by of what was most certainly only survival.
And Simeon. Simeon had found them. Simeon came with them; with her, as he'd promised, and now she too fawned over him; a cluster of small fish placed at his feet as she approaches. She can see the rage on his face, in his eyes, and for a moment she wonders if she too will succumb to an unfathomable ire in time.
She sits down beside him in silence; head slumped down to rest upon his shoulder in a shared, horrible agony.