Ankyra Sound [m] burn it down

OOC: Joining with permission!

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How many times in his life had he almost come back here?

More than Ephraim could count. The phantom scent of salt found him on the wind at the most inopportune of moments throughout the years, prompting him to turn his head helplessly toward the distant sea. He knew where it was in relation to himself at all times. He was pulled toward it more often than not, tugged along as though dragged by a fisher's hook in his nose. Whenever he tried to ignore it, the pressure in the back of his skull began to mount until his paws moved as though by puppet's strings, leading him to abandon countless pursuits and build a reputation for being unreliable.

Yet no matter how many times he was pulled toward it, since that most dreadful day — and the haunting days that followed — he had not once set foot upon the sands of Ankyra Sound.

Until now.

In spite of his seven years and the aches that were settling into his joints and the bedraggled quality of his aging pelt, when his paws touched the cold, accursed sand, it was as if he was young again. As if being here was enough to push reset on his life and bring him back to what it should have been, if only for a moment. His eyelids fluttered shut, blocking out the black sea and the pristine night sky and the stars gleaming overhead. He breathed in slowly, savoring the brine on the breeze.

Catch! whispered a small voice in the corners of his mind. His eyes popped open, then blurred with a searing sorrow while his throat grew tight. Whatever had become of her? Ephraim hoped she was living a good life, wherever she was, free from the same loneliness that had stalked him all this time.

With a choked sound, he ducked his head and marched stubbornly across the shore, determined to outpace the crush of grief for a life he should have lived and a sister he should have known, brothers he should remember, a mother and father he should have made proud—

With a start, Ephraim realized he was ankle deep in the surging sea near Caiaphas' grotto, and he was not alone. Some distance from him in the shallows, but close enough for notice, stood Raleska, bathed in starlight with her eyes heavensward, glistening before she wiped at them. His breath caught and panic surged from his belly into his chest, setting fire to his lungs and throat. His heart squeezed painfully and he found he could not move. His voice lifted of its own accord, a little boy responding to that whispered memory: "catched!"

No... Something was wrong. Cinnamon fur and a chickadee's black cap — not Raleska, but someone else. Mortified, Ephraim unglued his paws from the waterlogged ground and turned to beat a hasty retreat, only to find himself spinning back in the manner of a dog torn between a bone and a toy. It was too late to hope she hadn't heard him, so all he could do was hover there sheepishly with sea water sloshing over his feet and wait to be chased from his mother's sepulcher before he could pay his respects.

It felt like some force had tethered him to this moment, bidding him to stay put.