Dragoncrest Cliffs The wave crashed in, now the dream is dead

Battered and bruised, Etienne made it to the sea. The Gyrfalcons from the keep had protected their brood with beak and claw. They had torn into the seaborn with sad eyes. And he had almost welcomed the pain. He had even thought of boldly throwing himself from the cliff, but he hadn't.

Blood on haunches, blood in fur. Ear tattered. He stared straight into the abyss and laughed. There was nothing left for the seaborn. They had all left or died or broke. And he had not, why hadn't he. Why didn't he leave? Why did he hurt and hurt.

He howled loud and feral and grief filled. He howled for his mother, for his sister, for his auntie, and he roared at the sea. How dare she take and take and take. His granme told him. She told him.

'ER SAID YOU TOOK AND YOU GAVE. BUT YOU AIN'T BEEN GIVIN' JUST TAKIN AND TAKIN! YOU 'AS TAKIN' ENUFF!

He tore into the wounded shoulder tearing out tufts of his own fur, his own blood and skin, and tossing it into the sea. Tears streaming down his face.

Dere you take dat an' you leave my loved ones alone. You take me next time. You 'ear me! You take me!

Etienne moved boldly foward, tossing his body into the sea over and over again. But she didn't take. She didn't take the sea boy. She gave. She gave her tears to his wounds. She gave her salt to his own. She soothed over his shoulders and his head.

And then he lay spent at the edge of the beach. The water racing up to touch his toes and back down again. And he closed his eyes. Wishing she'd take him, but she never took that which she gave. And Etienne had been a gift, and he hated himself for it.