Ankyra Sound i want something more than, more than restless mornings

Dawn draws the golden boy up on puppet strings, a lift of the conductor's baton, his cue to begin again. Bleary-eyed, exhaustion smudged into the lines of his expression, Garland tugs himself into consciousness bit by bit. It's several hours before he finds the energy to truly stir.
@Pumpkinn, The greeting comes out hoarse, wavering a little, half a question. His head lifts first, stormy gaze seeking his companion — but it's the sky that catches his attention first. Glassy green-grey, clouded over, a pale reflection of the sea below. He shivers, imagining cold water through his fur. I want to go swimming today. The words fall from him softly, unbidden, and his eyes drop to fix on his companion after a moment. Come with me, he almost says — but something keeps him quiet. He imagines it's the storm in his heart, the raging of bitter waves against what little remains of him. It's hard to reach for anything like companionship through the onslaught. The best he can do right now is survive.

When the sun first began to peak over the horizon, young Pumpkinn was already awake. Being conscious—though just barely—so early in the morning was not a regular occurrence. He usually wouldn’t rise until the sun was high above the earth. Sometimes he’d even sleep through the afternoon. 

Truthfully, he’d waste most days slumbering, but admitting that to himself always fucked with his mood, so he’d stick with sometimes.

These past few weeks have been different. Pumpkinn woke up early in the morning, everyday. Maybe it was the constant stinging from his wounds that kept him up. Yeah, that’s it. That’s most of it anyways.

His eyes drift to the bundle of golden fur beside him. Just then, as though on cue, he spoke.

Oh! You’re awake. Pumpkinn couldn’t suppress the subtle rise in his voice as he lifted his head. He cleared his throat to play it off, and turned his head towards the sea.

Swimming huh? Don’t you think it’s a little too cold for that?