Solira: The Ocean: To Altair-Bodhisattva;

“ I have spread my dreams beneath your feet;
Tread softly because you tread on my dreams. ”

-- Yeats

“You have something strange in you,” she comments, with light dancing upon her blindness-gray eyes.

The mare-child – for a mare-child she is – cocks her head to the side as she watches the stranger-stallion. It is a strange introduction, no doubt, but she does not seem to mind it: around her the wind rages and groans and the sea… the sea is just as dead and steel-gray as ever.

This is the place, she says in the mare-child’s mind. This is where you should be. Must be. Where things that shouldn’t be are.

Oh.

The pulse of the fire is a frenzied maëlstrom before her eyes.

The Innocence burns its firebrand against her flesh; she doesn’t seem to notice.

But she stretches, Jörmungandr does and perhaps it is instinct that guides her lips to the tiny scar – one among many, as he is a warrior, and it shows – printed there by her dominance. A dominance that shouldn’t be. A dominance she died to undo, because she couldn’t stand it.

mm.

“I can help you, I think,” she says rather frankly – unlike her mother, she has no need for negotiations, for complicated volleys of word and thought. No, she is someone else altogether – far simpler and far more direct. “Free your mind.”

A pause; and she smiles, Jörmungandr does.

“Do you want to?”

Her eyes, as she looks at him, are very, very gray, and very, very calm.

stormreaver
of night and light and half-light