for peter_weps_ince

[mute_clay]

It’s the ocean. The Sea.

He’s never seen it before.
Has always imagined it to be like the lake.
Just bigger.

He hadn’t thought it would be like this.

There are people about, noises, smells, but all he can hear is the sound of the waves, the heart of the great water beating against the shore. The pier. It is all he can smell – no – all he can taste.

The lake was like a looking glass hidden in the heart of the forest, but this –
This is like the woods themselves. Beautiful, and dark, and terrifying. Calling, just like the forest could, but with rhythmic sounds instead of whispering trees.
A drum instead of a flute.
And yet, so alike.

He’d been elated when Orlando had taken him to the state park, but there had been paths, and people. And picnic tables. This is more like it.
This is wildness.
Ancient and untameable.

Clay’s aware that he probably looks like a moron standing there. But it doesn’t matter. How can anything matter when the world is wild and beautiful?

He walks closer.

Comments

Re:

[mute-clay.livejournal.com]

Clay looks surprised but pleased. He nods and follows Weps down the beach, all the while casting longing glances at the waves.

Re:

[peter-weps-ince.livejournal.com]

Weps stops walking for a moment, as something just occurs to him.

"So you'll have never swum in the sea then... never felt the swell of the ocean carrying you, had a wave break over you, tasted the salt on your lips."

He looks at Clay. "When it's warmer, you should try it."

Re:

[mute-clay.livejournal.com]

Clay looks at him, then back at the waves. He'd like that. He'd like to do it now even though it's cold. He puts a hand in the water, lets the waves stroke it. Then he straightens and dries his hand on his jeans. It is a bit cold for swimming.