Oystercatcher Tide Pools Unsweetened Lemonade

water. desert dwellers do not take it for granted. its rare descent from the heavens ushers in joy, ecstasy, celebration. it comes and goes like a fox-thief in the night. it nourishes what it can and then departs, leaving those oft-parched tongues to bake in the sun once more.

tziporah has never seen so much of it in one place, and it is nothing short of a miracle.

haYam haGadol, she whispers, heart still hammering from her breathless gallop toward the grey-green expanse. the fire-kissed fae stands alert and in rapture— stiff-legged, tail curled high over her hindquarters. 

so engrossed in this moment is she that the presence of another does not dawn upon her until the nearby darkling begins to dig into the pools. she turns with a small gasp of surprise and approaches slowly, one cautious step at a time.

the salt-sweet scent of shellfish enters her nostrils for the first time, and her mouth begins to water against her volition.

have you eaten this meal before? tziporah asks, breaking the silence between them that has so far only been filled by murmuring waves and squawking seabirds. she eyes the growing pile with interest— and not a little desire, as well.