Hadama had also found his way to King's End, though he had come through moonlight rather than over the waves. He walked through the maze, sharp eyes noting the encroaching signs of violet flowers amid the Flowerbirth buds of red and yellow, pink and white that dotted the vibrantly green, young leaflets that had unfurled throughout the walls of the ancient hedges. There were shadows skittering through the labyrinth just out of sight, and a sense of being watched that made his steps light though he did not rush his pace.
And he ran into his share of dead ends as the living labyrinth shifted around him. But he was both patient and persistent, and he followed the rules of the hedges until they - grudgingly - allowed him to find his way to their center.
The crackle of fire alerted him to how near he was to the heart of the Queen's Gambit, and the quiet hum of another's voice reached his ears just before he stepped into the clearing that held the legendary Eye of Fire. It no longer surprised him when he ran into those he knew in these distant places. Perhaps it was fate, or the lines of karma, but he only smiled to himself at seeing Thalassa's familiar shape outlined in fire, the sound of her song a lure to the once-Mer.
Unlike most Mer, however, Hadama did not sing. Not, at least, publicly. But he did hum, on occasion, and the bass rumble of his voice, deep and thrumming, joined softly beneath Thalassa's melody in quiet harmony like the steady rise and fall of the tide.
And he ran into his share of dead ends as the living labyrinth shifted around him. But he was both patient and persistent, and he followed the rules of the hedges until they - grudgingly - allowed him to find his way to their center.
The crackle of fire alerted him to how near he was to the heart of the Queen's Gambit, and the quiet hum of another's voice reached his ears just before he stepped into the clearing that held the legendary Eye of Fire. It no longer surprised him when he ran into those he knew in these distant places. Perhaps it was fate, or the lines of karma, but he only smiled to himself at seeing Thalassa's familiar shape outlined in fire, the sound of her song a lure to the once-Mer.
Unlike most Mer, however, Hadama did not sing. Not, at least, publicly. But he did hum, on occasion, and the bass rumble of his voice, deep and thrumming, joined softly beneath Thalassa's melody in quiet harmony like the steady rise and fall of the tide.
