Ocean's Breath Plateau I want a heart unbreakable

The panther shook his head was gratified to see some small measure of tension release from her. Chakliux had come home, in the end, safe and whole and still warm at heart. He had done as he thought best. He chose to believe that Marina believed this, too, and so he took her absolution at face value.

"I hope you never do," he replied. "I hope someday soon to be sure that no one ever will. This is why I hunt. This, and my regard for your seal hunter."

He looked up at the stars, pained by the implications of these words. He had no true concept of what Marina had suffered, and what Marina had lost. He knew, functionally, what had taken place — but he was a man, and his anger had first been stirred by what one man had done to another's wife, and not by the sin committed against Marina herself. He had thought of her much, since then, and now seeing her felt his rage and horror renewed.

A woman's body was full of her magick. He understood this as a curse — one that struck fast and left a painful mark, but left her still unblemished to his eyes.

A story sparked.

"These are the stars that sing to the ocean," he said in a quiet burr, giving weight to his voice to signal the start of his tale. "Where, far beyond a wolf's reach, sea creatures dance in the moonlight. These stars watch them. They alone see the glitter of moonlight on rainbow scales. They watch and they marvel, and then they rest as the sun rises so that they can look again when it sets.

"These are the stars that sing to the mountains. They whisper lullabies when it snows, and the whole world quiets to hear that soft and distant susurrus. They see the snowflakes where they form — they know this secret that they cannot share, though they want to. They must have so much they wish they could share.

"These are the stars that sang on the day that you were born. Your mother brought you into the world, and the stars wished they could hold you. They wished it as they watched you grow, each day waiting for the sun to set so that they can reach down and brush your cheek with their gentle light."

He swallowed back on some emotion he could not quite name.

"They sang that night," he told her. "It was all that they could do. They sang that night, and they cried, as they cried with you tonight. But they still sing, too. And they still shine for you, as they will tomorrow, and the day after. As they will shine on your children, and your children's children."

His air of gravity broke, then, and when he spoke he was only Dutch once more.

"He cannot take them from you, Marina," he said quietly. "And he cannot change you in their eyes. They know who they sing for. They have known you all your life."