My Tears Are Salt Water

[Sivan]

36th of Ash, Year 125 of Steel
A beach, Limánia

that is why I reach for you so much:
I think I'm drowning until we touch.
life is an ocean we fall in;
when you hold me I can swim.

There were puzzles that locked his mind in a rut; these were the problems that required a walk. Moving the body got the mind moving, too, and even if he didn't spend the walk ruminating upon the problem at hand, he often found an answer or, at least, a new thread to pull before it was done.

It occurred to him as he walked that he hadn't seen the sea in some time. In Kalzasi, he had sometimes gone down to the docks in order to smell the salt tang in the air, but Kalzasi was always so cold. Even a month into autumn in Silfanore, though, the air remained warm enough. His feet turned south and, at the Limánian Gate, he paid the nominal feel to walk through the portal to Limánia, bypassing the road guarded by the Makrýs in order to spend more time walking along the water.

One breath smelled of the city—remarkably clean compared to other cities he had seen—and the next smelled of salt and spray. The wind tugged at the loose tumble of golden hair that probably needed a fresh cut, but he smiled a little smile and turned away from the warehouses and quays in the direction of the beach he had preferred as a small boy.

As soon as his boots hit sand, he paused to remove them, pulling the shafts of them up under his belt to secure them as he enjoyed the gentle abrasion of the soft sand between his toes. The sea breezes tugged at his clothes as well. Down here, there were fewer impediments to the wind. Shorelines were always interesting for a Spiritwalker. Water met Earth, two impossibly huge powers. Fire from the sun, and untrammeled Air. The elements were constantly shifting in such enormous ways, it reminded him how small he was.

He walked until he reached the tidal pools. No longer a boy, he didn't disturb the little creatures who made them their homes. He just walked carefully—the mosses that grew on some of the rocks could prove treacherously slippery—and enjoyed the little creatures, some colorful and others blending into rock and sand.

He walked until the smooth sands were interrupted by rocks and boulders that stretched out into the sea. There was one in particular that he climbed. Careful not to cut his feet, he reached the top. As a boy, it had felt like the top of a mountain and the drop too steep for his small courage. Of course, he had seen countless other boys and girls and adults dive from that vantage. He knew it was safe.

There was no point of decision. He just found himself disrobing, folding everything carefully and placing his boots on top lest the wind try to steal from him. There was nobody nearby—apparently it was too cool a day for many to be on the beach for pleasure; Kalzasi had confused his body.

In any case, too many spirits trailed him on a daily basis to worry about anyone stealing from him, and Exael wasn't likely to dive with him.

It felt good to stretch, skin open to the caresses of the Air and the gentle, fiery kiss of the sun.

He dove. Thankfully, he had learned to do so in Dalquor some, and practiced more recently in Udori when camping away from the city to gather herbs and other reagents or otherwise for recreation.

It wasn't quite like flying, which he had learned from Destyn and his dragonfly wings. There was a sense of suspension in falling that did things to his mind.

The sea was cold, but the shock wore off quickly. It wasn't too cold. The Water felt delicious upon his skin as well. He could feel the saltiness of it drawing out impurities and as deep as gravity had taken him, he floated as though he were dead. There was a stillness down there, even as he sensed aquatic spirits and their interest in him piqued.

Sivan was never alone, even several feet under the surface of the ocean.

Never alone, Exael assured him.

The wise celestial spirit knew him better than most, albeit through the lens of something not in the least elven.

When his lungs began to clamor for breath, he swam to the surface, careful to flip wet hair back so it wouldn't remain in his eyes. He breathed. He tread water. Then he floated on his back for a time.

How best to breathe in Caerulia? he wondered.

Sivan had discussed this quandary with the Princess Akantha. Though Tyrann had invited him, Tyrann hadn't offered a strand of hair or similar so he could take Neptori form. He knew he could if he were given a focus to take into his rune, but even if Tyrann wasn't Hytori, his position as a foreign diplomat and his nobility among his peers made Sivan hesitate to ask outright. It was entirely possible that he would offer should it become clear that the invitation was in earnest and Sivan's interest in it the same.

For now, though, it was a challenge.

He had told Akantha his first instinct had been the playful, intelligent dolphins, who sometimes protected elven swimmers from hungry sharks, but then he recalled that they could not remain underwater indefinitely, as they came to the surface to breathe. At last, he had opined that when the road—figurative, at least—presented itself, he might better know how to prepare. That was, he didn't know exactly where Caerulia was, nor what sorts of waters he would have to pass through to get there. No doubt that would weigh heavily in his choices.

Here in the shallows, he wasn't terribly close to the spirits of leviathans and kraken, but all the same, he felt something huge reaching out across water and spirit to observe him. A gritaeri, he thought, although it seemed quite a bit more than the one who guarded Torin's valley.

Indeed, he felt tiny here, floating upon the surface of something immensely vast...

It was colder when he struggled up out of the surf. Instead of taking the long way around the rock formation as he had before, he began to climb carefully out of the wave-churned sand and water up the rock itself. It was a challenge, but merely one of strength. Each of his fingers was now an elf-sized tarsal claw from a dragonfly, and his grip was excellent.

Still, rock climbing was not something he did regularly. He was strong from all the menial work that accompanied his magic. He was even known to help Torin with heavy lifting around the forge. Some things were just difficult, used different muscles, or the same muscles differently. It felt good. The breezes wicked away the water, and muscles heating up from use were cooled so he remained comfortable.

At the top, he stood in the breezes and the light that was now erring into the golden hour. He stretched, content to let the air dry him before he put his clothes back on and walk home, but something caught his eye.

Kneeling, his fingers turned over a razor-sharp tooth that rested upon his boot—a shark's he thought.

There was nobody about, but he looked around all the same.

From shark bait to a shark? Exael's words came with impressions of Sivan floating upon the surface, dark shapes circling under him.

But I wasn't far enough out for that depth...

You know that doesn't matter to a spirit like the one you touched.

"Huh..."

Sivan spent some time peering at the tooth in the palm of his hand. He spent more time communing with the spirit to which it was loosely tied, fingers closing around it. The pain of it cutting into his flesh was a part of it. When his eyes opened, it wasn't quite night, but the moon was up.

Standing, he took a running leap off the edge of the rock once more. His fist was empty, though he felt an itch between his shoulder blades as the tooth was incorporated into his Animus. His body was changing before he split the water.

No doubt Laurevere would approve another predatory form. As a shark, few would be his fears under the waves and in the deep.

It was difficult to access his emotions in this form. Everything about him was colder as he swam out for deeper waters—until he scented blood and his velocity increased. He was hunger. He was death.

that is why you reach for me so much:
you think you're drowning until we touch.
death is an ocean we fall in;
I will hold you while you swim.