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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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[pollyladon.livejournal.com]

The young woman comes back up the beach with a young man, half drowned. Wind is whipping up the beach now, and we should get inside, but I realise I do not know if there is anywhere for us to go.

"Hail," I say to the young man. "Did you plan to drown yourself, or was it an accident?" I look at the woman. "Finished mending I have now. We can fish, if you wish it."

[jaeresteade.livejournal.com]

We make it back up the beach to the two others, a fellow I don’t like the look of and an older woman with nets gathered around her. She gives me an owlish look. “It was a plan, but none of mine,” I answer her. “And if you catch anything in these waters, you may wish you could throw it back.” It hurts to talk, and I’m terribly thirsty, but there’s no fresh water in sight.

[sapphira-ststep.livejournal.com]

"Hail. Did you plan to drown yourself, or was it an accident?" and he answers back "It was a plan, but none of mine." And the man who was here has gone running down to the water's edge, to a flume that spins out a child that he catches up and spins around himself.

"Finished mending I have now. We can fish, if you wish it," she says, and I am about to agree when the man from the sea speaks up.

"And if you catch anything in these waters, you may wish you could throw it back."

"That is the story I have been told," I say in agreement. "Of the man who caught the fish, and the fish who bargained wishes for his freedom..." I look at him, suddenly uneasy. "But that fisherman was not said to have any trouble, throwing the fish back," I admit. And fish are not serpents, either, though they are close one to the other. Still...

"I must have my face back," I say again to him, and I turn back to the woman with the nets. "Yes, I do wish it. Let us go down to the water (http://community.livejournal.com/estdeus_innobis/405311.html#t10242879)."