Coconut Grove the day is done, but i'm having fun

@Govinda

rannveig had too much time on his hands in the teekon - with skellige's imperial presence out of his hair, and the incessant natterings of deirdre something of a distant memory, the boy defaulted back to his true nature; which was, to put it kindly, a total lazy-ass slouch.

he had spent the morning casually wandering, walking the way a wolf does when he has no destination: swerving here, inspecting something interesting there -- but there wasn't much at all about this place that was interesting, right up until he found the most curious of rocks.

rannveig froze in his tracks and tilted his head, ears flat as his emerald gaze beheld this strange rock.

it was a hairy rock, to be specific - and that rough brown hide that wrapped around its' somewhat spherical form was a little confusing to rannveig. he nudged the item with a toe and watched as it languidly rolled in the sand; it was heavy, and he heard somewhere inside of it the groaning contents of something... liquid?

well - that was confusing. rannveig hadn't ever seen a stone so perplexing, so he set the rock, brown hide and all, between his teeth and started to gnaw with a child's ambition.

the more time he spent here, the more he liked it. it reminded him so much of the south that he wondered what would happen, when winter came to the wilds. would the trees die, only to bloom again in the spring? or would the snow not even touch this grove and all could carry on as usual? he was so intrigued by the possibilities that he continued to linger around.

but in all his time here, he hadn't seen many others. today was out of the ordinary as he caught sight of a dark form nearby; it was that lanky boy from the charred forest, the one accompanying the girl. he was gnawing industriously on one of the coconuts, clasped hard in his teeth.

with a whoof that served as both an alert and a greeting, govinda padded over to the other, the sand shifting beneath his paws. trying to get to the milk inside? he asked, one corner of his mouth lifting in a smile. you have to crack it open; it's hard to do with teeth. i've never gotten lucky enough to break one myself.

occasionally, they fell hard enough from their trees to burst open. this was an anomaly. more often, it took skilled labor, a tedious job of smacking it over and over into a rock. given that wolves had no opposable thumbs, it made the task even more difficult.

the rock, or whatever it was, proved unyielding -- even between the powerful clasp of rannveig's strong jaws. lazy as he was, his strength was no slouch -- rannveig had the bonesplitter's prowess nestled in those thin jaws, and even then, the rock remained entirely unaffected by his crunching.

he sighed and tenderly moved his jaws back and forth as govinda appeared: a burning sensation below his mandible had worked its way into his mouth, and the muscle's fatigue snarled along his cheek and neck. propping the 'rock' in front of him with his long legs, rannveig silently announced his defeat.

what confused him, however, was the mention of milk -- rather stupidly he responded: "milk? rocks don't have milk." he said it with all of the infuriating assurance of an ignoramus, and even offered a smarmy, stupid-shibe smile that govinda could be so silly to think rocks lactated. that was strictly a mammal business, as far as rannveig was concerned.

silly govinda. milk. scoff.

had he been any other wolf, govinda might have been offended. affable as he was, he merely chuckled lightly, shaking his head. rock? that's a coconut, yaar, he responded, lifting his chin to stare up the trunk of the tree. see? they grow up there, like fruit. well, they were fruit, but govinda didn't exactly know that, either. he just knew that they weren't rocks.

what are you doing so far from your bay? he inquired, more curious than anything. the young man had spoken so highly of the place that govinda figured he'd keep by it more often than not. then again, perhaps he was a natural wanderer, too. govinda knew all too well the pull of itchy paws; even on the move, now, he found they were not easily satisfied.

rannveig took this all in with about as much grace as he could muster - which in truth, was not too much. he could not help the incline of his gaze, which slid in disbelief to the towering palms above.

he wasn't convinced, and it wasn't that subtle.

a line appeared down his long muzzle, one of confusion and doubt; as if to attempt one last siege on the rock, his jaws closed around it, finding nothing but coarse and unrewarding rind. he resigned to the possibility that govinda might not be lying, incredibly impossible as it seemed that the 'rock' was a fruit.

he wanted to hotly fire back you're a fruit -- but that wasn't very nice, was it? and he wouldn't have meant it -- but he didn't have a good measure on the humor this man possessed, and such 'witty' banter was often best reserved among comfortably known company. giving the 'rock' one last look, he rashly pushed it away -- if he was a fruit, he wanted none of it.

(or did he?)

"eh - gotta learn the lay of the land before you set your ass down in it."  a pearl of wisdom, spoken from the mouth of a nincompoop. "besides, must not be that far if you are here.. you sure one of those rocks didn't hit you on the head?"

the young man didn't believe him, but that was okay. govinda was sure he'd figure it out in time. he offered the other a cheeky smile in response, staying quiet for a moment before speaking again. if it had, i really do have the thickest skull in the world, he shot back, laughter in his voice. no pain, yet.

his eyes flashed briefly toward the east, then back to the rangy seawolf. i'm a wanderer. what's far to others is not far to me, govinda explained, feeling the sudden and desperate urge to travel. are you the same way, then? he could see it, not only based on build but on the glint in the man's gaze.

rannveig's gaze climbed again towards the shivering palms, the 'rocks' high in their eaves shuddering in the wind. when he glanced back downwards, he thought he might have caught a glint of laughter in the agouti's gaze.

they had more in common than the cairn boy realized; perhaps the reason such deductions came easily for govinda was because he was far more experienced (rannveig: YOU OLD MAN) and, likely, just a little smarter. rannveing pressed both paws forward in a stretch, inspecting the blunted edges of his worn claws. did they really tell so much about him?

"i think so. i had fun going from the island to where you met me.. though there were some small comforts from home i missed. but the road has been good to me - to us, i think. has it been good to you?"

he nodded, something like pensiveness entering his expression. always has been, govinda murmured. i've never been happier than when i'm on the move. it's nice to have a home to go back to--but getting stuck there for too long is brutal. he thought of all the times he'd been obliged to stay at morningside and look after things. shackles would have been kinder.

given that we feel the same way, i suppose i'll see more of you around, he continued, grinning. we're not too far from each other, at least by our standards. god, he was old enough to be rannveig's father. the thought of it made his stomach turn--where in hell had the years gone??--but, at the same time, gave him a strange sense of comfort.

the young seawolf might be too hard-headed for it, but perhaps he'd be inclined to see govinda as a mentor of some type, as time went on. it might aid in healing the hole left by so many--river, kitten, blackbear. . .

god knows the cairn boy needed a mentor -- not that he was astute enough to catch such a thought as it flickered across govinda's mind. he remained inobservent and unaware, wrapped in his own selfish thoughts. he thought of a life of wandering - he liked the picaroon lifestyle, except -- he also liked coming home to a warm embrace, and soft thighs.

he was too honest for his own good sometimes.

"don't you miss that one thing though?" he wasn't being lewd, but he didn't really have a word for it without sounding crass: "like - i miss this one girl from warsaw - malia - god, she had the best smile, you know? and sometimes after border duty with my dad -- which was, let me tell you, absolutely endless -- that old goat could go for miles -- but all i'd want to do after all of that was just to find her and just be next to her and stuff. it sounds lame."  his gaze cut to govinda, as if daring him to mock rannveig for such transparency. "but it's not lame. it's the part of life you miss when you are always on the move. do you have a malia?"

his smile grew empty, like the kind of expression you make when there's nothing happy within you but still you have to fake it. surely rannveig wasn't so observant to miss it, though govinda hoped that he was. the man swallowed, licking his lips before continuing. ah. . .no. not anymore.

he blinked, staring at the young seawolf but looking through him; it was not the grove that he saw. i've had a few malias, govinda continued, some closer to my heart than others. my last. . .she was too young; we grew apart. and then there was-- a white-hot bolt of agony seared through his stomach, as if someone had hit him dead square. coelacanth. he tried to say her name, but nothing came out.

govinda sighed, shaking his head and giving it up. so. yes. it does make it hard to be on the move, when you have someone. perhaps it is my luck, now, that i do not. what was meant to be a charming sentiment came out twisted and bitter. he hated the sound of it.

if rannveig caught the swiftly trailing emotion that fled (or fell) from govinda's features, he had the good sense to ignore it - it wasn't like him to thumb an open wound, and as much as he wanted to know all about everyone's personal beeswax, he just wasn't the type to pry beyond a light ribbing.

all the same the mention of having a few malias brought a glint of admiration to rannveig's eyes. so govinda was a stud, wasn't he? a ladies man that shackled with all the malias he pleased -- rannveig felt a surge of bro-like jealousy - the kind that wasn't malicious, but had a thin undercurrent of competitive edge to it. the kind where you were proud, but a bit insecure, to stand witness to such incredible accomplishments.

govinda was beginning to spare rannveig the pain of prying further, and then, a thunderbolt seemed to strike through him, for he changed topic suddenly. the boy narrowed his gaze, disappointed the story had ended -- but knowing like all good stories, it had likely ended in heartbreakin conclusion.

then there was who? he wanted to pipe up with a stupid smile, but he knew better. some malias were better left buried by the past.

"being lonely is a sad kind of life." rannveig chirped, more-so for himself than govinda. he didn't care for the idea of never having another malia. nah, that wasn't his jam. "you don't gotta talk about it if you don't want." he inspected the rough edges of his paws noncommitally, hoping that govinda would anyway even though he sworn he wasn't the type to pry.

govinda smiled at the young man's attempt to further the depressing conversation, and shook his head. there's at once too many and not enough words to tell you what's in my heart, he responded gently. i'll spare you both the rant and the awkward silence, which i think you'll appreciate.

he reached out and pulled the coconut close to him with a foreleg, twirling it on the tip of his paw like a wannabe premiere league player. how is your family? govinda asked casually, cocking his head in inquiry at rannveig. he found himself all too often eager to sink into the mundanity of small talk; it was much easier than picking at the scabs on his heart. besides, he liked this guy, and he liked ford, too.

well, govinda wasn't spilling the tea. lame. rannveig tried to hide the slight deflation (really, it was only slight -- he promised he wasn't that kind of guy that loved the town gossip) ((not rly, he actually is the town gossip)) that settled on his shoulders.

some clams couldn't be pried open, rannveig had found -- no matter what powerful jaws pried their tough shells, it was time that forced their halls to open. he supposed maybe govinda was not so different; eventually, he might be more forthcoming... but now, tucked between the hard cocoon he had put around his heart, what need did he have to expose its tender meat?

as govinda shuffled the coconut around, rannveig's thoughts went from clams and the complexities of the heart, to his family. he huffed; his family was a much less fascinating subject. "what do you want to know? ford's still stiff as a dry piece of kelp, velen still mouthy as a gull -- and i'm still the handsomest." he said it all tongue in cheek, of course, but it was hard to miss he believed every word of it.

govinda laughed, rolling the coconut away. the most confident, too, i'd wager, he said teasingly, grinning. he wondered if rannveig knew how much he was like govinda in his youth. he was afraid to know if it frightened him. growing up, turning into a shell of your former ebullient self. it would have frightened govinda, for sure.

but i barely know anything about your family, he remarked, shrugging off his pessimistic thoughts (for now). tell me more. i enjoy others' stories a lot more than my own, as many as i have to keep me company.

too much company.

wanna fade?

rannveig would have been amused to hear govinda's inner dialogue - though he would not have contested them. despite being young he understood that existence was a simply sheer transformation: what willed and moved you one day often killed or made you destitute the next: live was a series of sheer reinvention - build, strip away, remodel, build again.

he was happy to talk at length about his family, and conversationally would ask here and there about govinda's -- though it seemed to rannveig that he was less recalcitrant about bartering information than the older wolf was. after an enjoyable talk he snatched the coconut up and made hs leave, bouncily waltzing back to stavanger with this little gem in tow.