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+---- Thread: at the sea's end - memories (/showthread.php?tid=13407)
at the sea's end - memories - riftweaver - 12-07-2020
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RIFTWEAVER
[W]iskerRIFTWEAVER
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The sea was a harsh, unforgiving place. The ocean didn't care for those who sailed it's surface, nor for those within the depths. The ocean cared only for itself, for the tumultuous waters and lashing storms. Water, and food, were both scarce for those who failed to properly prepare; disease and death followed those who cared too little for the ways of sailors.
Riftweaver knew this all too well. As he stood at the edge of the beach, staring across the choppy grey waters, he would recall his time upon the wind tossed waves. He would recall the fear he felt when he was close to death, and the relief brought upon him when found by far more experienced nautocals. The tender way in which their healer had encouraged him to health. The distrust. The storm. His duo-colored eyes would drift closed as he was snatched into the past, a tunnel of memories sucking him down like a whirlpool.
He was panicking. Elduin had never been this out from the shore. He hadn't meant to. The male had only wanted to catch some fish. Yet, the ocean had a different idea. The storm had come quick, pulling his small boat away from shore before he could even react. A sorrow entered his heart as the sandy shores vanished from sight.
Days passed like this. During the day, he hid under the sails from the sun's relentlessness. At night, he tried to follow the stars home. The days began to blur together, and soon time ceased to exist. How long had he been out here? His stomach hurt with hunger, his throat parched from his lack of water. He should have prepared.
Storms were infrequent, but devastating upon their arrival. It was one such storm that launched the male from his boat, sending him tumbling through the night waters. It was cold, and he could feel the salt gripping his fur. His nose broke the surface, air being sucked down as if he were dying. Perhaps he was. Another wave knocked him under, sending him tumbling through the depths.
His eyes snapped open, his jaws parted slightly as he gasped for air. Ptsd clung to his pelt like fleas, burrowing in his mind and eating his confidence. The sea had been a dangerous place, one he now feared. Perhaps, just perhaps, he could come to pass over it, to reclaim that security in which he'd made a home prior to his misadventure and near death. Maybe one day he would be okay. But for now, the male tried to catch his gasping breath.
-
The sea was a harsh, unforgiving place. The ocean didn't care for those who sailed it's surface, nor for those within the depths. The ocean cared only for itself, for the tumultuous waters and lashing storms. Water, and food, were both scarce for those who failed to properly prepare; disease and death followed those who cared too little for the ways of sailors.
Riftweaver knew this all too well. As he stood at the edge of the beach, staring across the choppy grey waters, he would recall his time upon the wind tossed waves. He would recall the fear he felt when he was close to death, and the relief brought upon him when found by far more experienced nautocals. The tender way in which their healer had encouraged him to health. The distrust. The storm. His duo-colored eyes would drift closed as he was snatched into the past, a tunnel of memories sucking him down like a whirlpool.
He was panicking. Elduin had never been this out from the shore. He hadn't meant to. The male had only wanted to catch some fish. Yet, the ocean had a different idea. The storm had come quick, pulling his small boat away from shore before he could even react. A sorrow entered his heart as the sandy shores vanished from sight.
Days passed like this. During the day, he hid under the sails from the sun's relentlessness. At night, he tried to follow the stars home. The days began to blur together, and soon time ceased to exist. How long had he been out here? His stomach hurt with hunger, his throat parched from his lack of water. He should have prepared.
Storms were infrequent, but devastating upon their arrival. It was one such storm that launched the male from his boat, sending him tumbling through the night waters. It was cold, and he could feel the salt gripping his fur. His nose broke the surface, air being sucked down as if he were dying. Perhaps he was. Another wave knocked him under, sending him tumbling through the depths.
His eyes snapped open, his jaws parted slightly as he gasped for air. Ptsd clung to his pelt like fleas, burrowing in his mind and eating his confidence. The sea had been a dangerous place, one he now feared. Perhaps, just perhaps, he could come to pass over it, to reclaim that security in which he'd made a home prior to his misadventure and near death. Maybe one day he would be okay. But for now, the male tried to catch his gasping breath.
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