Ocean's Breath Plateau Bled White

Backdated -- Mid July. Will be posting again with Wagtail after this post, but all are welcome to join after!

The ocean is cold and unfeeling. It is as it was meant to be -- the natural order as he was taught. 

The body rolls in the shore break. Limbs splay in unnatural directions with every new tumble. He can't help but notice that its eyes are still open, and despite the absence of life, the shadow of fear remains. It's an odd thing to notice, but he cannot tear his gaze away from what very well could be his own fate.

"This one has failed. The mothers reject him," the high priestess calls. She motions to an acolyte at the shore, and the jeering stops. Now there is only silence and the wind. "You, dispose of it."

He swallows, knowing very well that the time is near. There is another beside him. A young man like him. He is restless, shifting his weight back and forth. His eyes dart about for an opening. For escape. When he finds it, he turns tail without warning -- but unlike him, Whip is paralyzed. His knees don't move. All is ice. All is numb. He can't stop looking at the body rolling in the break.

It does not end well for the other drudge. The water slows his escape, and in seconds, they are upon him like sharks. 

The young man is then forced under.

He will not receive the Mother's mercy. He prays death will be kind and quick.

It isn't, and he struggles.

The Priestess is unfazed. It is not her first breaking. It will not be her last.

"You then," she commands. Her eyes lock with his. It is time.

"Approach."

There is peace in the mothers. This repeats in his mind like a mantra. He would have faith -- he must have faith. He steps forward.

"You understand what we do here, drudge?" she asks. Her voice is stern, but she offers mercy. "What this is?"

Too fearful to speak, he could only nod.

There would be no pleasure in this for either of them.

She considers him for a moment in silence, then offers, "May your faith be strong."

***

It was the same dream again -- a boyhood memory. He blinked it away, and after taking a long, slow breath, it passed as it always did.

Memory was a tricky thing; with time, they often lost their sharpness, and at his advanced age, Whip was all too familiar with the concept of his brain slowly turning to soft-serve. This one, however, never seemed to change. It stuck out uncomfortably like a rock in his bed.

Milkey eyes adjusting to to the morning light, Whip could see the hollow he and Wagtail had shared for the night was empty -- but he could still smell her. 

With a shake, he poked his head outside.