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Mar. 13th, 2011 04:03 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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estdeus_innobisDream.
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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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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Date: 2011-03-20 04:29 pm (UTC)"I'm not," I say brightly. "I'm all me and gears, and Leah runs like the river." I step back from the selkie, smiling. "And I know you too, pattern and work, though I've never seen you. You're solid, I think."
And the blond man is saying something I don't listen to particularly, but one of the words chimes in my mind when I take the gear and hold it up to the light (http://community.livejournal.com/estdeus_innobis/405311.html?view=10309951#t10309951).