FINN
He doesn’t wake gently - he never does. It’s with a sharp inhale that Finn returns to consciousness, the Spyglass acutely aware of being somewhere unusual, with the hush of the waves in his ears and cold sand beneath his body. There’s a scent he doesn’t recognise, too, and when he lurches into a sitting position he realises it’s a scarf, folded and cushioned beneath his head by someone he only barely remembers.
But Finn does remember, the longer he considers it; he remembers her standing over him at the shoreline, looking like an angel. He remembers realising who she is, and he glances around as if to try to seek her out. But there’s nothing and no one left on the beach, and Finn isn’t wearing his glasses to track the auras in the air. So he carefully gathers up the scarf, intending to return it, intending to find Amalia again some time soon, rubbing at his forehead as he gets his feet beneath him.
And then without any other choice, he leaves, more energised but not necessarily refreshed, his limbs stiff as he walks back across the sands.
~FIN
But Finn does remember, the longer he considers it; he remembers her standing over him at the shoreline, looking like an angel. He remembers realising who she is, and he glances around as if to try to seek her out. But there’s nothing and no one left on the beach, and Finn isn’t wearing his glasses to track the auras in the air. So he carefully gathers up the scarf, intending to return it, intending to find Amalia again some time soon, rubbing at his forehead as he gets his feet beneath him.
And then without any other choice, he leaves, more energised but not necessarily refreshed, his limbs stiff as he walks back across the sands.
~FIN
