The Ark
The Ark meets his gaze without flinching, her smile slow and knowing, all vixen warmth and sea-born certainty. There is something almost ceremonial in the way he says King’s End, as though naming it gives shape to the next stretch of horizon, and she nods once in quiet agreement. She has heard the crew speak of a rodeo—dust and hooves and shouting crowds, leather and sunburn and spectacle—and though it is not water, it is still movement, still something to be devoured, still something to do with him.
With a languid breath she arches back into the sand, pressing her shoulders and spine down as if to memorize the sensation. The grains are hot now beneath her, clinging less aggressively than before, and she lets the sun soak into her skin until it feels like varnish warming over fresh wood. For a heartbeat longer she luxuriates there, lashes lowering, lips parted in a contented half-smile that belongs equally to siren and ship, then one eye cracks open, mischievous and bright. "Okay," she says lightly, rolling up into a sitting position, long red hair cascading down her back in a molten wave. "You swim us back, and I’ll take us to King’s End."
She turns her head over her shoulder to look at him fully, blue eyes softened just enough to betray the sincerity beneath the varnish. "Thanks, Jack," she adds, and the words are simple but not careless. "As far as first outings go..I really liked this one." Then she extends both hands toward him, palms open, fingers flexing once in invitation. There is an expectation there, apparently, that his portion of transporting them begins right then.
Behind them the Spillwave glitters wide and patient, and farther still the Ark rocks gently at anchor.
~FIN
With a languid breath she arches back into the sand, pressing her shoulders and spine down as if to memorize the sensation. The grains are hot now beneath her, clinging less aggressively than before, and she lets the sun soak into her skin until it feels like varnish warming over fresh wood. For a heartbeat longer she luxuriates there, lashes lowering, lips parted in a contented half-smile that belongs equally to siren and ship, then one eye cracks open, mischievous and bright. "Okay," she says lightly, rolling up into a sitting position, long red hair cascading down her back in a molten wave. "You swim us back, and I’ll take us to King’s End."
She turns her head over her shoulder to look at him fully, blue eyes softened just enough to betray the sincerity beneath the varnish. "Thanks, Jack," she adds, and the words are simple but not careless. "As far as first outings go..I really liked this one." Then she extends both hands toward him, palms open, fingers flexing once in invitation. There is an expectation there, apparently, that his portion of transporting them begins right then.
Behind them the Spillwave glitters wide and patient, and farther still the Ark rocks gently at anchor.
~FIN
Her touch is like a tempest, her whisper is a breeze,
but when she has a temper, she'll bring you to your knees
but when she has a temper, she'll bring you to your knees
Code stolen from Queen Sky
Siren's Wake | After she leaves a space, traces of her presence linger briefly: a faint scent of salt, the sound of distant water, a restless feeling in the chest. People rarely notice it consciously.
