Ocean's Breath Plateau lonely times when i could not find a friend

seventy-three seconds.

for seventy-three seconds, aditya's heart stopped. by the grace of some deity—hari, to his mind, but perhaps another—it started again, the man coming to on a gasp upon the sand. his limbs were rubber, her body bone-tired.

in the maelstrom that was seelie's disappearance, he'd been moved to a secure location by tullik and taggak, and there he rested now.

perhaps he should have died.

he'd wet himself and had required clean-up assistance. his back legs barely functioned, the front enough to drag him inch to inch. his eyes were heavy-lidded, and stared into abyss when not diverted.

a shell of his former self—but alive, despite the odds. and still, his granddaughter was missing.

tonight, adi sighed, and rested his muzzle upon outstretched forepaws. it was a comfortable enough den, and he could hear the soft murmur of the sea. was this not enough for him to die peacefully? apparently not.

the moon glowed amid intermittent clouds, and so, too, did he carry on.

His daughter had not been found. Dutch knew that he had failed her. Had failed to find her, had failed to keep her from being taken in the first place. Had failed her and the rest of their family for many months before this day. But he wondered, too, if this was a punishment. If she had been harmed in this way because the gods dictated that he must be harmed.

Empty-handed, he returned home, giving in to the urge to check in on the rest of his children, on his wife, on their family. Chakliux was still out, as were the younger seal hunters. Dutch took note of those who had stayed behind, mentally tallying the child-to-adult ratio, protectors-to-healers, able-to-weak.

He followed his nose to Aditya, who he was shocked to find in disrepair.

But — not that shocked.

"Father," he murmured in their shared tongue, belly-crawling the last few feet necessary to push his chapped nose against Aditya's outstretched paw. "Adi."

Fear and grief and desperation had fueled him for so long, now. Aditya's mortality was something that'd plagued him for even longer. He was not yet ready to face it, but, like many things he would rather not face, there didn't seem to be a choice.

"What do I do?" he asked his sire, his goldenrod eyes alight with misery. Not even Dutch knew exactly what he asked; what should he do about his father's failing health? What should he do about his missing daughter? What should he do about Simbelmyne's haunted eyes? The panther had so rarely sought the simple comfort of going to a parent with his worries, but he sought it now — at a time when there was little help to be had, and when Aditya had little time left to give it.

beta, he whispered, the face appearing as if in dream, the feel of nose against nose—dutch was here.

kya karoon? asked dutch—well, if it wasn't in his own tongue, then he understood it as such. and it struck him to the very core, for he'd asked that same question time and again. with all these problems. . .

stay with her, aditya insisted, jaw tight, eyes trained on his son's face. don't leave. never leave.

children came and went. mates were forever. he never did learn that lesson until it was too late.

adi sighed, ribcage collapsing, a puddle of agouti in the cave with yellow eyes regarding the young man before him.

A breathless laugh escaped him, as if he thought the older man must be joking. He realized only now that he had been waiting for someone to tell him to stay — to let someone else find Seelie. To tend to his wife and his remaining children. To rest, to recover. That things would turn out fine, and that he could lie down next to his wife and sleep.

Aditya did not promise this. Dutch shut his eyes and gave a dismissive shake of his head, a tear sliding down the hollow plane of his cheek.

"I need to find her," he replied. There was no other option, no matter what he wished. "Once she is home — then I will stay. Forever. Always."

He blinked more tears out of his eyes so that he could see Aditya clearly. He could hardly remember what the man looked like when his muzzle was only peppered with gray. There was still some youth left in his eyes, Dutch thought, but there was no mistaking him for anything but an old, old man.

"Dhanyavaad, baba," he murmured, miserably, unable to meet the other man's eye. "Jab main yahaan nahin tha tab yahaan rahane ke lie." He took another steadying breath. "Just a little longer," he pleaded. "Watch over them for a few more days. I will bring her back to us."

duplicate pls delete

his poor son. he wanted to enfold the young man, wrap him within his limbs, make sure he was safe and secure. unfortunately, that was not possible—dutch was responsible for his own group, now.

grown. and aditya couldn't remedy it.

theek hai, beta, he murmured. he let loose an exhale that was deep and rattling, nothing less than an old man's contribution to the atmosphere. i will be here. be safe, arjun.

if dutch left, he didn't know whether he'd be alive to see his son home. but that was the way of it, no? he had to go, eventually.

Though he was given something like permission, the panther sensed his father's unease with this plan. Could it be right to remain here while Seelie was out in the world? Dutch didn't know the answer, but he felt deep in his bones that he couldn't live with himself if he did nothing. Even if this cost him — how could he do anything but try and right this grave evil?

"I will be safe," he said, testing the words for strength. He would need to be; he could not leave his family without a father once more. Even if they still had Chakliux, they deserved to have him, too. "I will come back," he repeated, a little more firmly. "Very soon. With our shadow girl."

Shadow girl.

The name came to his lips without thought, but pain lanced freshly through him, now. Sulukinak was lost to him already; he would not let this darkling girl of his own blood go the same way.

"You must hold on," he pleaded, crawling just a little closer to nose at his father's cheek. "So that you can hold her in your arms again. Yes?"

He searched the other man's eyes for reassurance.

the name shadow girl tickled something in his mind and brought a smile to his muzzle. he nodded in agreement to arjun's terms—at least, his desire to follow them—but his eyes remained abstracted, seeing something long ago, far away.

i once knew a girl from moonspear, black as night, adi murmured. i called her chaiyya—shadow. she was big and fearsome. . .i wonder what became of her. if she dwelt among the moonwolves now, he hadn't seen her.

then the memory of another dark lady followed, and his smile faded, his face pensive.

seelie, he whispered. he shifted his gaze to his son, throat rippling as he tried to swallow past dry, rough tissue. did your wife ever tell you about her name? seelie, short for coelacanth. simbelmyne's grandmother. . .and the woman i once loved.

and perhaps still did, and always would.

One of his dark ears swiveled toward Moonspear as it was mentioned. Immediately, he liked the idea of this chaiyya, large and fearsome as she was. But little more was spoken of her.

Instead, conversation turned to Seelie. Not his own lost selkie girl, but an ancestor of hers. One that his own father had known.

"Tell me about her," he said, though he felt already that he had spent too much time here. Something kept him in place, and for the moment, he did not question it. Perhaps these were the last moments he would have with his father. He'd had few enough already.

tell me about her.

aditya swallowed, tears coming unbidden to his eyes. he hadn't spoken of coelacanth in a long time. pleasure and pain in tandem; bittersweet heartbreak in those memories. and so long ago. . .

she was black as night, he began, her appearance coming easiest. sleek and slim, tall ears, beautiful blue eyes. unlike anything i've ever seen before or since.

though young seelie looked similar—

she was soft, sweet and kind, adi murmured. a single drop escaped the corner of his eye, rolling down his muzzle to rest at the corner of his lips. he could taste the salt there. but fiercely protective of her family. small, but strong.

he looked at arjun, though his gaze was lightyears away. i loved her, he told his son. but she was promised to another, and she would never break that promise. i tried to fight him for her, and i almost lost my life.

aditya wondered whether that was the turning point, then. if he had only held his tongue, kept the fire at bay. . .would he preside over an intact family unit? would his twilight years be not so fractured?