ghost [★] farewell to thee

[Keona.]

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✯ — keona sibéal ó faoláin. female. striker of the typhoon. blind. rusty spotted cat.  ref. bio.

At dawn's early light, a soft voice drifted over the ocean breeze.  Nothing but a murmur in the wind, barely heard above the waves reaching out to shore.  A faint, spectral figure of a small feline hovered over the water.  A pair of ocean blue eyes glinting in the dim light.  Sad eyes.

Haʻaheo ka ua i naa pali
Ke nihi aʻela i ka nahele
E uhai ana paha i ka liko
Pua 'ahihi lehua o uka

"Hello?" A groggy, quiet voice inquried.  Bewildered, Keona rose from her sleep, brows creasing sharply at the barely auidable sound.  Something tugged at her heart and mind.  A peice of her recognizing something she must have heard before.  Somewhere.  Sometime ago.

The voice, it seemed sad to her.  It's a sad song.  A goodbye song.  Keona grit her teeth and slowly padded outside of her hut, careful not to wake her father.  Unlike he'd approve of an early outing while she was supposed to be healing.  Still, she could not resist the pull, walking until her feet touched sand.  Walking until water began to wash over her tiny paws. 

I know this song.  The fae lifted her head towards the breeze, feeling the wind brush against her cheeks, the salt on her tongue.  I know this song.  Faintly, her voice rose to join; quiet, but well-tuned, familiar to the words.

Aloha ʻoe, aloha ʻoe  "Aloha ʻoe, aloha ʻoe,"
E ke onaona noho i ka lipo  "E ke onaona noho i ka lipo,"
One fond embrace
A hoʻi aʻe au  "A hoʻi aʻe au,"
Until we meet again "Until we meet again."

The rocking boat seemed such a distant memory now.  The voices of her father's crew fading away as each day passed by.  All at once it was brought back.  The crash of waves on wood.  The constant murmur of voices as everyday chatter went on.  Paws padding across the wooden floorboards.  Above it all a quiet voice.  Sweet as honey, rising and falling to gentle lullabies.  'Don't cry, I'll see you by and by.'

Her chest ached.  Her eyes stung as she took another, faltering step forward, water reaching up to the middle of her legs.  "Makuahine?"

Aloha ʻoe, aloha ʻoe
E ke onaona noho i ka lipo
One fond embrace
A hoʻi aʻe au
Until we meet again

A bottle drifted up beside her paws.  Inside a wrapped parchment, though the child saw nothing through her pale eyes, only felt the bottle bump against her.  Slowly, she dragged it back to the dry sand, before running back to the waves, searching, her ears perked.  Waiting.  Hoping.

Until we meet again . . .

The voice drifted away in the wind.  The singer disappearing into the sunlight, gone.

[ there is a single, rolled parchment inside the glass bottle, addressed to both Kian and Seamus according to the inscription.  Only one word is sprawled on the page in Hawaiian; kou. ]

tá mé i dtiúin — ✯