Wheeling Gull Isle treibloka

i loved it <3

daniil's grasp was strong; heda could sense the breaking ability of his digits but here he was at peace, all the hardness of his body slipping into something like peace as his voice lifted to the sea-hills and waves with a song that touched deep places inside her spirit.
heda did not know the words, and yet she did; she heard the proverb and hymn of them, as daniil's voice rose to soft crescendo and then back down into a flowing reverence; 
her eyes shut! and though it was not yet the season, heda caught the tendriling peaceful scent of azalia and moonflowers and citrus fruits and lavender, filling the island with a summer perfume that she knew would come again. daniil's song felt old as it was, and reminded heda that peace could be kept forever, as far back in knowing as these words.
even when the rich depth of his canticle had fallen away into the soft drifting of the sea across sand and into tide-pool, against the stone cliffs of sweethabor and softer organs of coral forest and kelp netting;
she found she was crying, and smiled self-deprecatingly at herself. heda, opening eyes of gold and not caring that glass globules flowed into crystal upon her saltspot cheeks; affixing them to the cimmerian pull of his; "he's in your voice, daniil."
for how could he have asked to prayer and then found the very thing burnt as sweet incense in the senses of god?