Shimmering Sands muradoii III

The sea.

It is endless and cold, sprawling out infinitely, shooting waves upon exhales like the watery lungs of a great iron beast. Winds off the crashes are sharp and salted; odd and rotting. Yakona lips at the mix of brine and sand on Ts’okhun’s maw while tiny paws stumble into mother’s grand imprints. Her eyes are wide and in them dances the reflection of the vast, steel ocean. Instinct commands her wariness, but her small, wild heart knows what the mind does not— that the sea is their birthright.

The cub shakes her paw, the peculiarity of sand inciting a desire for play, but as soon as Sivaak’s voice rolls like thunder she is attentive, throwing her head high to peer into the selfsame eyes.

The day is gray but Sivaak is a flame on an altar, lit from within, still before the violent seaside. She makes her unknown sounds cut the wind. She rules with the gaze of a single look. The girl stands, watching her mother with a sacred ache— a longing not for love, but to be worthy of it; to walk in her footsteps. To earn even a shadow of her strength. And Yakona knows what she is hearing now is the voice of a god.

For who else is a god, if not the one who makes you, shapes you, teaches you to endure?