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[npc-excolo.livejournal.com]

Dream.

There is a great sea. The sky is grey, the water green, and the seafoam is the flecked white of milk on the turn. The shore is stone and shingle, and the cliffs are bone-shades. Will you wake on the little fishing boat that rides the waves, wary of great beasts that lurk beneath the surface, or on the cold and stony shore? Or perhaps as some watery thing yourself, breathing in water as cold as ice and with a salt-iron taste like blood?

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Comments

[tereixa-zann.livejournal.com]

"Surely, we can," I say, smiling. So many of us and all and my coracle left me and Leah in close quarters, but when we pull, some having their feet dug into the sand and some wading into the sea, it stretches out long and fine. That's my girl, light and shining and balanced on the grey waters, and I pat the hull.

"North, then?" and I look that way and there is a smudge or a cloud or a rising line on the horizon, and I can set a course by it. It's as if tehre were a track through the waves, the hull is cutting through so smooth and fine, and we are on our way (http://community.livejournal.com/estdeus_innobis/405996.html).

[syl-thorn.livejournal.com]

"Go we should by boat," says th'woman't got swallowed by th'snake. "The way through the forest is dangerous."

Can't say I disagree. Feel more comf'rt'ble'n th'water anyway. Th'girl who took th'gear....Zann, tha's'er name, I know't somehow...says we c'n use hers. Well, best t'go 'long wit' th'crowd, I guess, but I don't get inta th'boat. "'ll follow along," I says, an' throw m'skin back over m'shoulders. Know't's gonna hurt, annit duz...th'skin sinks 't's way inta me like'a plant takin' root, flattens m'tits, crushes m'arms, fuzes m'legs. This low, bark'a pain rips outta m'throat's m'face's crushed 'n reformed, m'eyes stretchin' wide an' wet. An'en't's done, an'm pushin' m'self inta th'shallows, an' th'water closes over me like a blessin'.