{claim} calm like you - - -

[lamb ♥]

I WAS SO HEAVY, SO HEAVY IN YOUR ARMS,

[/size] Man of five words, man of five hundred sorrows – he spoke little and more often not at all, pacing quietly and solitary along the waterline Octavian had given his father's father, his father, and now he in turn. It was not difficult to be so alone, he often thought, eying the shifting horizon far, far across the sea; it was a snowball effect of sorts, had started rolling at Beatriz' funeral three years ago, reached its highest velocity when Kajsa fell in love, had finally come to a halt, perfect, amalgamated and round, the day Olena moved away to places past the north's furthest gray peak; he saw it coming and waited for it appropriately with his toes buried in the shore, watching with that detached bronze gaze the coming and going of the people who, once upon a time, had been his and his only. Now all that belonged to him was this expanse of coast, the frothing white waves leaving pits and piths in the wet sand, silent as he was: little beyond the inhale-exhale of the sea, of his lungs as he processed the nature of his existence. He liked to pretend that he did not mind that answers that lingered at the bottom of the paper, after all numbers had been carried and all variables decided. (zero.)

A breeze danced in from the west and he raised his head to meet it, eyelids fluttering shut as he contented himself in the distance that wind carried with it, the scents, the corresponding tastes. He imagined at times that he could smell his sisters on that wind, figurative telegrams that for the briefest of moments brought a smile to his stoic face – but often he was only the victim of idealism, and the smile died on his lips more quickly than a butterfly in the hand. Regardless, he would tell himself, it was too late. He had become too independent, too withdrawn and too cold to be of value to them; the rich timbre of his voice had wasted away over a year until it was scarcely more than a whisper at best, a round of vinyl scratched, overplayed, and too tired to sing any longer. What would they say of their only brother now, the warmth seeping from his skin as if he had just died? He could almost see the disappointment in each of three pairs of blue eyes, hear the three chastising sopranos that had raised him – and it made him turn away, aching with apathy.

He would teach himself to forget them.[/justify][/size][/color][/blockquote][/blockquote][/blockquote]

[lamb ♥]

I WAS SO HEAVY, SO HEAVY IN YOUR ARMS,

[/size] He did not recognize her, much less know her. She had the look of one of the northern types that Olena had met and married (although quite female in comparison), radiating a strange internal warmth that, to him, was both repelling and inviting; he supposed that in a way everyone he met became that way eventually, the perfect trap for such a lonely disposition as his. She had simply made it there more quickly than the others, a feat that he respected in his own silent, far, and deep way. Nevertheless, he did not recognize her, much less know her – she had come quietly up through the tide, her ankles cutting ripples through the water that caught in his ears and turned his head slowly, slowly, towards where she stood almost uncertainly and definitely wide-eyed. Well, she could stare if she so wished. He would blink as he pleased, and so he did, one flicker of dark eyelashes, like a shutter over an amber lens, and he said nothing, watching her with the usual dauntlessness. (what is she doing here? she looks like a frightened child.) 'Salutations, sir,' came her voice finally, her expression one that belonged to those that had never seen the sea. He almost smiled, but caught himself, thought better of it. 'I am terribly sorry to bother you, but … I'm a little … lost.' (yes, a frightened child.) Another blink, accompanied by an exhale.

“Where?”

Once upon a time, he had a rather pleasant voice. Too long without lasting company had dulled its velvet edge, however, until it had rusted away into little more than a mockery of its former glory, an unintended growl at times, a coarse whisper at others; he had trekked laboriously towards her so that it would not lose itself in the salt air, more brittle than chalk and twice as likely to fly away once broken. It was still very difficult to hear, however. He strained to find it himself as it resonated within him, and so he deigned to repeat it just once more to be sure. “Where?” It occurred to him that he should have asked her name, but it also occurred to him that he wasn't particularly interested – he would help her along her way and then he would lapse back into his monotony, the disease that curled warmly and securely in his stomach for him to carry all along the Western shore. Knowing her name was more trouble than he was willing to go to. He would remember her better if her face had a name, he knew, and he did not want to think of her when the north wind blew; too many people plagued him already, and all he wanted was his trademark peace.[/justify][/size][/color][/blockquote][/blockquote][/blockquote]

[lamb ♥]

I WAS SO HEAVY, SO HEAVY IN YOUR ARMS,

[/size] It took some time for her to comprehend what he had said, and when she finally spoke next, she told him that she did not know where it was that she was headed. 'I, I am sorry – again … I don't know where I'm going.' (then how does she know that she is lost?) Looking at her calmly and phlegmatically, he wondered if he was supposed to know where it was that she was headed – perhaps it was only her destination's name that she didn't know, and perhaps the issue was as simple as figuring out what it was. On second thought, not so simple. There were several territories within the Homelands, each accompanied by a list of local monikers and alternatives that he had not all memorized. It could very well take days to discern exactly which it was that she meant, and the prospect of having that much company was not so favorable to him; he could barely speak in two word fragments, much less the full, grammatically correct sentences that her constant presence would entail. How troublesome, he thought, a long breath streaming from his nostrils as he looked her over, attempting to decide where she would best be suited; process of elimination told him that, for whatever reason, she was not returning to the north, but beyond that he was once again at a loss – he wished that she at least had an idea (the name of a friend, or a description of where she would like to go) to offer instead of her apologies. He appreciated them, but they did not help him overly much.

He wished he had stayed in the Bay today.

The tide was beginning to come in, the waves lapping longer and longer around his feet. She had long since moved to dry land, perhaps afraid of the sea, or cold, or what have you. He did not know, and he could not pretend to understand. If he had to name anything within the Shore that was his companion, it would be the drone of the sea. 'Do you think you could tell me about this place?' And through the drone of the sea, he thought that perhaps he had misheard her, an ear flicking – he hoped that she had in fact said that she remembered and that she'd be going now. She could have even asked him to accompany her until she found her destination, and he would not have minded it so much as what she had really said. 'That would be a start.' Only through sheer force of will did he conceal his frown, masking it with a bare nod as his gaze wandered past her and onto the light as it played in the water. “Midlands,” he said first, wetting his lips in an agitated way. It seemed that not only could he not speak, he did not know what words to speak, he had forgotten the language in all of his time alone. What came next? He struggled. “The Western Shore, in the Midlands. I … am Overseer.” And every word was a gear dislodged slowly fitting back into place, ragged and coarse, the most he had spoken in a long time. He hated the sound and would have quit then if he could, but it was his duty to assist her. “Plains, that way, then … the South.” The more quickly, the better, he decided.[/justify][/size][/color][/blockquote][/blockquote][/blockquote]

[lamb ♥]

I WAS SO HEAVY, SO HEAVY IN YOUR ARMS,

[/size] He wished she was noisier. All three of his sisters had been as talkative in December as they were in June, and it unnerved him some to meet a girl that didn't follow their patterning. Of course, he knew that not every mare he met would be like Beatriz or Olena or Kajsa – their mother after all had been a ghostly thing that trailed his father like a second shadow (like a pair of puppets tangled in each others strings), and he had known others who had wandered through, so close to absolute silence with drawn faces. He wasn't ignorant. He was a sentimental fool, but not an ignorant one. Still, he found himself pleading with her to fill the spaces with her own language; she was too quiet, too thoughtful, too observant as she stared at him with her bright eyes, drinking in each of the sixteen words that had taken nearly all of his energy to say. She could have kicked rocks for all he cared, or hummed, or sang – she could have screamed or cried. But he could not bring himself to ask, too tired and too disturbed to muster another effort. Consequently, he could only stand politely and listen to the waves froth along the sand as she mulled over his poorly drawn map, gaze resting resolutely on her wet ankles where the skin was a little darker, where he did not have to be reminded of the fact that she was always watching him.

When she spoke, he almost did not hear her – he had been listening to the ocean and feeling the growing chill as the sun fell beneath the far edge, and it was only by chance that he raised his head to toss the dark, damp hair from his face. 'Okay,' she said, smiling; he could see an apology building up in the corner of that smile, and he swallowed a sigh with resignation. 'I have a sense of direction. If I just came from the North, then that's the East … ' So he was right. He wondered if anyone could be distinguished so easily as Northern, Southern – he wondered if, from her perspective, he looked horribly Midlandish. He shifted his weight some, shook his head again. It didn't particularly matter. Whether he was Midlandish or Northern, it would do little the change the fact that he was still this few-worded man, marooned of his own accord in Blesk Bay. Still Caridad. Still alone. And all the while, the apology curled tighter in the dimple by her mouth. 'For now, would you mind if I stayed here a while?' If he hadn't been cut out of stone, he thought he might have laughed ruefully, wrly, right then. It seemed as if it was always this way, seeing things coming from far away and then doing nothing to stop them. “Of course.” Almost a whisper; he wet his lips momentarily before speaking again, hesitantly. “Caridad. And … you?”[/justify][/size][/color][/blockquote][/blockquote][/blockquote]

[lamb ♥]

I WAS SO HEAVY, SO HEAVY IN YOUR ARMS,

[/size] [/justify][/size][/color][/blockquote][/blockquote][/blockquote]