Blackwater Islands Oh Comely

As Akantha answered his question with a slight hint of ire, Whip shook himself dry. He then settled with his belly flat against the sand a fair distance away from the matriarch. In a way, her answer was reasuring. That life, somehow, never truly ended; that it was a cycle instead of a straight line. Whip had always believed it to be something like a race to the finish where the prize was nothingness and nonexistance. Somehow, that meant both his father and his mother were still out there, reborn.

But they would not remember their child left behind. Reassurance aside, this was a heavy and saddening realization. He fell silent to process his lingering grief.

Whip's thoughtful gaze fell on the matriarch's as he saw a question born on the tip of her tongue. "I'm a consort," he answered. "Or, uh -- not yet," he added after a beat. Meteora had explained his lot in life in brief when she brought him in, but even then, Whip was unsure of some of the finer points of his position. What he did know, however, was: "I do what I'm told." Whatever it was.