[ AW ] Play horse to your own cavalry

Meissa bacchus

Nomads are said to know their way

She withdrew from the shadows of the Drunken Seagull, pads sinking into damp black sand. The night was well upon her and she knew she needed to head home, but what harm would a little stroll on the moonlit beach do? She inhaled deeply, eyes tracing the waves that broke upon the rocks, taunting with their promises.

Meissa turned from the water, her paws catching ever so slightly upon something hard, much to her disdain. She stilled, turning her nose downwards to nose the sand away from the villain.

It was a turtle hatchling shell, left empty by the bird that had clearly made it into a meal.

She licked her lips disagreeably at this, poking it with a claw and wondering at the fate of the world, of those within it, of herself. She was feeling quite morose, drawn far too deeply into her own mind to care what others might think about the soldier upon the sand, staring at the emptiness that once held life. She wondered at the turtle, wondered of its mother - leaving it in a pit with its siblings.

In a way, she was that hatchling.

She sat upon the sand, giving the hatchling a wordless and, inevitably, meaningless vigil. There was a kinship here, between two who had been left in shells to survive on their own. One made it at least this far, the other did not.

by an exact spot in the sky

Muriel had stolen away in the early evening, partaking in bladders of fermented berries that she’d taken – of course without asking or paying – from a merchant who’d fallen asleep on his travels, near the edge of the Sussex area. She lay now by the waves, the last one at her side, almost empty the waters reaching up and caressing her paws. Her eyes glittered with drunken stupor, the smile upon her face unable to be taken as anything but liquid happiness. The waves upon her side matched with the darkened hues of the night touched waters, the bright white upon her flank little more than the ocean’s froth. As another wave reached up for her, she lifted her paws and splashed, giggling in a childish manner. She was alone, for the time, but she knew somewhere along the beach the others of her newfound group were laying, resting, slumbering if they were not causing some sort of ruckus at the Drunken Seagull, or causing some other type of generalized chaos in the surrounding areas. She liked having a group once more, but it was still new to her, to sway to the beck and call of someone other than her own whims. But, Leviathan had thus far been a fair one and didn’t request too much of her activities to be in the name of their little pirate crew. She liked it well enough and had even learned that they were distantly related, which had been a mind-blowing realization to her all on its own. Family, she’d thought she’d had none of it left after her mother’s demise. Muriel reached back with her maw, taking the opening of the bladder in her mouth, and rolling onto her side with it, paws gripping its leathery sides expertly. She chugged the last bit and cast it aside with the pile of two others. She’d come back for them later, if the ocean didn’t claim them to her tides, and fill them at the Drunken Seagull to drink again to her heart’s content. Hell, maybe she could trade one for a good bite to eat, too. She began to hum a little tune to herself, as she stood and slowly began to swagger her way up the beach. A figure in the distance caught her attention, drawing her in. She stumbled closer, squinting slightly. The breeze betrayed them, denoting a woman, and in the paleness of the moonlight, Muriel could see somewhat of a distinct fur pattern. Nothing familiar in either the scent or sight, but that was of no concern. She had courage on her side, and drunken happiness to make her friendly to anyone who may cross her path. As she drew closer, the other seemed… down in the dumps, so to say. No fear. Muriel could make it better, she decided. ”Why do you look so sad upon the beach?” she questioned, as she came within speaking distance. ”The night is good, the ocean alive, come girly, smile a little.” She plopped herself down in the sand a few feet away from the other, her gaze drifting down to the empty turtle shell. How sad, but such was the nature of life. - you know that it's not over -

the moon will swallow me whole

She drew a breath as a slurred voice drew her from her thoughts.

The captain turned to look at a stranger, a woman of blues and blacks along with a sea spray of white. This one was a Lowlander, Meissa understood with a brief glance over her facial features and a keen ear at the way she spoke.

She could almost taste the fermented berries in the air as the stranger breathed, chattering about smiling. It smelled just like the den of vipers she'd just left, though a different tang, not covered by the musk of wolves ready for a fight or something else. For a moment she felt herself drawing up to become affronted that someone was telling her what to do - but then she sank into herself with a sigh.

Drunk girls were sometimes just overly friendly.

Thinking about life, I suppose, she returned with a tip of her head towards the shell. How quickly it comes and goes. She figured the morose topic would be better than spilling her heart about what truly was hurting within her.

After all, she'd never met this Lowlander before.