Echoes Of The Tide Quotes

The silence just allowed the echoes of the question to play out in Nox’s mind, reminding him of his own unwinnable war against the never-ending tide of conmen and criminals. He was trying to clean up these parts, but every time he rubbed away a stain, he found another layer of dirt beneath. So, you could give up—or you could keep on scrubbing.

When we think of friends, and call their faces out of the shadows, and their voices out of the echoes that faint along the corridors of memory, and do it without knowing why save that we love to do it, we content ourselves that that friendship is a Reality, and not a Fancy--that it is builded upon a rock, and not upon the sands that dissolve away with the ebbing tides and carry their monuments with them.

Attached to High Tide?” she echoed, her voice teasing. “Have you grown attached to me, Hong Liwen?” “Yes.” His reply came easily. It didn’t sound like he was teasing her in return. “I have.

We are created for precisely this sort of suffering. In the end, it is all we are, these limpid tide pools of self-consciousness between crashing waves of pain. We are destined and designed to bear our pain with us, hugging it tight to our bellies like the young Spartan thief hiding a wolf cub so it can eat away our insides. What other creature in God's wide domain would carry the memory of you, Fanny, dust these nine hundred years, and allow it to eat away at him even as consumption does the same work with its effortless efficiency? Words assail me. The thought of books makes me ache. Poetry echoes in my mind, and if I had the ability to banish it, I would do so at once.

The Voyager We are all lonely voyagers sailing on life's ebb tide, To a far off place were all stripling warriors have died, Sometime at eve when the tide is low, The voices call us back to the rippling water's flow, Even though our boat sailed with love in our hearts, Neither our dreams or plans would keep heaven far apart, We drift through the hush of God's twilight pale, With no response to our friendly hail, We raise our sails and search for majestic light, While finding company on this journey to the brighten our night, Then suddenly he pulls us through the reef's cutting sea, Back to the place that he asked us to be, Friendly barges that were anchored so sweetly near, In silent sorrow they drop their salted tears, Shall our soul be a feast of kelp and brine, The wasted tales of wishful time, Are we a fish on a line lured with bait, Is life the grind, a heartless fate, Suddenly, "HUSH", said the wind from afar, Have you not looked to the heavens and seen the new star, It danced on the abyss of the evening sky, The sparkle of heaven shining on high, Its whisper echoed on the ocean's spray, From the bow to the mast they heard him say, "Hope is above, not found in the deep, I am alive in your memories and dreams when you sleep, I will greet you at sunset and with the moon's evening smile, I will light your path home.. every last lonely mile, My friends, have no fear, my work was done well, In this life I broke the waves and rode the swell, I found faith in those that I called my crew, My love will be the compass that will see you through, So don't look for me on the ocean's floor to find, I've never left the weathered docks of your loving mind, For I am in the moon, the wind and the whale's evening song, I am the sailor of eternity whose voyage is not gone.

To His Coy Mistress Had we but world enough and time, This coyness, lady, were no crime. We would sit down, and think which way To walk, and pass our long love’s day. Thou by the Indian Ganges’ side Shouldst rubies find; I by the tide Of Humber would complain. I would Love you ten years before the flood, And you should, if you please, refuse Till the conversion of the Jews. My vegetable love should grow Vaster than empires and more slow; An hundred years should go to praise Thine eyes, and on thy forehead gaze; Two hundred to adore each breast, But thirty thousand to the rest; An age at least to every part, And the last age should show your heart. For, lady, you deserve this state, Nor would I love at lower rate. But at my back I always hear Time’s wingèd chariot hurrying near; And yonder all before us lie Deserts of vast eternity. Thy beauty shall no more be found; Nor, in thy marble vault, shall sound My echoing song; then worms shall try That long-preserved virginity, And your quaint honour turn to dust, And into ashes all my lust; The grave’s a fine and private place, But none, I think, do there embrace. Now therefore, while the youthful hue Sits on thy skin like morning dew, And while thy willing soul transpires At every pore with instant fires, Now let us sport us while we may, And now, like amorous birds of prey, Rather at once our time devour Than languish in his slow-chapped power. Let us roll all our strength and all Our sweetness up into one ball, And tear our pleasures with rough strife Thorough the iron gates of life: Thus, though we cannot make our sun Stand still, yet we will make him run.

Come in, O strong and deep love of Jesus, like the sea at the flood in spring tides, cover all my powers, drown all my sins, wash out all my cares, lift up my earth bound soul, and float it right up to my Lord's feet, and there let me lie, a poor broken shell, washed up by his love, having no virtue or value; and only venturing to whisper to him that if he will put his ear to me, he will hear within my heart faint echoes of the vast waves of his own love which have brought me where it is my delight to lie, even at his feet for ever.

It seemed that out of every tear of a martyr new confessors were born, and that every groan on the arena found an echo in thousands of breasts. Caesar was swimming in blood, Rome and the whole pagan world was mad. But those who had had enough of transgression and madness, those who were trampled upon, those whose lives were misery and oppression, all the weighed down, all the sad, all the unfortunate, came to hear the wonderful tidings of God, who out of love for men had given Himself to be crucified and redeem their sins. When they found a God whom they could love, they had found that which the society of the time could not give any one, -- happiness and love.

Rest you here, enchanter, while the light fades, Vision narrows, and the far Sky-edge is gone with the sun. Be content with the small spark Of the coal, the smell Of food, and the breath Of frost beyond the shut door. Home is here, and familiar things; A cup, a wooden bowl, a blanket, Prayer, a gift for the god, and sleep. (And music, says the harp, And music.) Rest here, enchanter, while the fire dies. In a breath, in an eyelid's fall, You will see them, the dreams; The sword and the young king, The white horse and the running water, The lit lamp and the boy smiling. Dreams, dreams, enchanter! Gone with the harp's echo when the strings Fall mute; with the flame's shadow when the fire Dies. Be still, and listen. Far on the black air Blows the great wind, rises The running tide, flows the clear river. Listen, enchanter, hear Through the black air and the singing air The music….

persistent, flowing through fallen shadows, excavating tunnels, drilling silences, insisting, running under my pillow, brushing past my temples, covering my eyelids with another, intangible skin made of air, its wandering nations, its drowsy tribes migrate through the provinces of my body, it crosses, re-crosses under the bridges of my bones, slips into my left ear, spills out from my right, climbs the nape of my neck, turns and turns in my skull, wanders across the terrace of my forehead, conjures visions, scatters them, erases my thoughts one by one with hands of unwetting water, it evaporates them, black surge, tide of pulse-beats, murmur of water groping forward repeating the same meaningless syllable, I hear its sleepwalking delirium losing itself in serpentine galleries of echoes, it comes back, drifts off, comes back, endlessly flings itself off the edges of my cliffs, and I don’t stop falling and I fall

So much depends, of course, on what the individual hears when he gives himself over to the electronic tides breaking on the shore of his Seashell. The voice of conscience and reason? An echo of morality? A new thought? A fresh idea? A morsel of philosophy? Or bias, hatred, fear, prejudice, nightmare, lies, half-truths, and suspicions? Or, perhaps even worse, the sound of one emptiness striking hollowly against yet another and another emptiness, broken at two-minute intervals by a jolly commercial, preferably in rhymed quatrains or couplets?

What Jessica said—hair much shorter, wearing a darker mouth of different outline, harder lipstick, her typewriter banking in a phalanx of letters between them—was: "We're going to be married. We're trying very hard to have a baby." All at once there is nothing but his asshole between Gravity and Roger. "I don't care. Have his baby. I'll love you both—just come with me Jess, please... I need you...." She flips a red lever on her intercom. Far away a buzzer goes off. "Security." Her voice is perfectly hard, the word still clap-echoing in the air as in through the screen door of the Quonset office wth a smell of tide flats come the coppers, looking grim. Security. Her magic word, her spell against demons.

We are constantly immersed in a network of signs and symbols whose meaning eludes us, but which, if only we could read them, would reveal every detail of our past and even predict our future. Like anticipatory echoes, they tingle in our consciousness, building in crescendo until the event they herald becomes fully manifest. Afterwards, they linger for a time before being drowned out by a new tide of signs rushing in upon us. Such signatures are everywhere...

And the days move on and the names of the months change and the four seasons bury one another and it is spring again and yet again and the small streams that run over the rough sides of Gormenghast Mountain are big with rain while the days lengthen and summer sprawls across the countryside, sprawls in all the swathes of its green, with its gold and sticky head, with its slumber and the drone of doves and with its butterflies and its lizards and its sunflowers, over and over again, its doves, its butterflies, its lizards, its sunflowers, each one an echo-child while the fruit ripens and the grotesque boles of the ancient apple trees are dappled in the low rays of the sun and the air smells of such rotten sweetness as brings a hunger to the breast, and makes of the heart a sea-bed, and a tear, the fruit of salt and water, ripens, fed by a summer sorrow, ripens and falls … falls gradually along the cheekbones, wanders over the wastelands listlessly, the loveliest emblem of the heart’s condition. And the days move on and the names of the months change and the four seasons bury one another and the field-mice draw upon their granaries. The air is murky, and the sun is like a raw wound in the grimy flesh of a beggar, and the rags of the clouds are clotted. The sky has been stabbed and has been left to die above the world, filthy, vast and bloody. And then the great winds come and the sky is blown naked, and a wild bird screams across the glittering land. And the Countess stands at the window of her room with the white cats at her feet and stares at the frozen landscape spread below her, and a year later she is standing there again but the cats are abroad in the valleys and a raven sits upon her heavy shoulder. And every day the myriad happenings. A loosened stone falls from a high tower. A fly drops lifeless from a broken pane. A sparrow twitters in a cave of ivy. The days wear out the months and the months wear out the years, and a flux of moments, like an unquiet tide, eats at the black coast of futurity. And Titus Groan is wading through his boyhood.

I touched the moon last night; a golden glow beyond my grasp. Eons before me it rested there. It will remain when I am dust. My hand now glows from the embrace. Voices echo through nights past, and with the glow, caress my face. My finger faints from what will last. Alone I am; alone secure; the moon will last when I am gone. A Master set it in its’ place, to move the tide, refresh the dawn. Unnumbered eyes have felt its rest; have looked upon reflected light. My heart is moved away from pain; I touched the moon last night.

Echoes of a time still splash in my ears. It is persistent, gently prying into the silver moon of my mind, where the tide has come to shore and wallows. [Mind Time]

When an enlightened person appears, the Way echoes like the majestic sound of the rising tide. When the tide rises, all false views are swept away.

My soul knows yours as waves and tides know the sea.

Prison Moon Four a.m. work duty and I begin my solitary trudge from outer compound to main building. A shivering guard, chilled in his lonely outpost, strip searches me until content that my inconsequential nudity. poses no threat and then whispers the secret code that allows me admittance into the open quarter-mile walkway. I chuff my way into another day as ice glints on the razor wire and the rifles note my numbed passage, silent but for my huffs and scuffle on the cracked, slippery sidewalk A new moon, veiled in wispy fog and beringed in glory, hangs over the prison, its gaudy glow taunting the halogen spotlights. The moon’s creamy pull upsets some liquid equilibrium within me and like tides, wolves and all manner of madmen, I surrender disturbed by the certainty that under the bony luminescence of a grinning moon The lunar deliriums grip me and I howl--once, then again, and surely somewhere an unbound sleeper stirs, penitence is dying a giddy death. I shake myself sane and as the echoes hang in the frigid air I explain to the wild-eyed guard that convicts, like all animals under the leash, must bay at the beauty beyond them.

A Draft of Shadows' desire turns us into ghosts. We are vines of air on trees of wind, a cape of flames invented and devoured by flame. The crack in the tree trunk: sex, seal, serpentine passage closed to the sun and to my eyes, open to the ants. That crack was the portico of the furthest reaches of the seen and thought: —there, inside, tides are green, blood is green, fire green, green stars burn in the black grass: the green music of elytra in the fig tree's pristine night; —there, inside, fingertips are eyes, to touch is to see, glances touch, eyes hear smells; —there, inside is outside, it is everywhere and nowhere, things are themselves and others, imprisoned in an icosahedron there is a music weaver beetle and another insect unweaving the syllogisms the spider weaves, hanging from the threads of the moon; —there, inside, space is an open hand, a mind that thinks shapes, not ideas, shapes that breathe, walk, speak, transform and silently evaporate; —there, inside, land of woven echoes, a slow cascade of light drops between the lips of the crannies: light is water; water, diaphanous time where eyes wash their images; —there, inside, cables of desire

All the nations that ever lived have left their footsteps in the sand. The traces fade with every tide, the echoes grow faint, the images are fractured, the human material is atomized and recycled. But if we know where to look, there is always a remnant, a remainder, an irreducible residue.

Collins, echoing Ed Catmull, “What separates people is the return on luck, what you do with it when you get it. What matters is how you play the hand you’re dealt.” He continues, “You don’t leave the game, until it’s not your choice. Steve Jobs had great luck at arriving at the birth of an industry. Then he had bad luck in getting booted out. But Steve played whatever hand he was dealt to the best of his ability. Sometimes you create the hand, by giving yourself challenges that will make you stronger, where you don’t even know what’s next. That’s the beauty of the story. Steve’s almost like the Tom Hanks character in Castaway—just keep breathing because you don’t know what the tide will bring in tomorrow.

It was a golden evening in August when my mother came untethered. And the river must have shimmered as she walked into it, under it. And the water must have soothed and washed away her pain. And as her life ebbed, before her heart stopped and the high tide carried her upstream, she must have thought of me, surely? For it was the same golden evening I was born.

Dresden, who was a king as of the old age, swished his tail--just once. Then, deliberately, he turned to face the coming dogs. Every muscle stood out in stark relief. He roared. The sound echoed down the street, bouncing off the neat suburban houses and well-manicured hedges with the force of dynamite. The dogs flowed at him like a tide, bottomless and unstoppable. Dresden charged them.

For Villanelle, language is fluid. Most of the time she thinks in French, but every so often she awakes and knows that she’s been dreaming in Russian. At times, close to sleep, the blood roars in her ears, an unstoppable tide shot through with polyglot screams. On such occasions, alone in the Paris apartment, she anaesthetises herself with hours of web-surfing, usually in English. And now, she notes, she is mentally playing out scenarios in Sicilian-inflected Italian. She hasn’t sought out the language, but her head echoes with it. Is there any part of her that is still Oxana Vorontsova? Does she still exist, that little girl who lay night after night in urine-sodden sheets at the orphanage, planning her revenge? Or was there only ever Villanelle, evolution’s chosen instrument?

The great men and women of ancient times were dreams in their own way. Pioneers, explorers and cowboys lived with hopeful tomorrows and starry-eyed imaginings. They were lovers of the wind and tide, the romance of the deserts, mountains, and seas. The thrill of the great unknown. Despite their denials and insistence that there was nothing romantic about the way they lived, their actions spoke just the opposite. Dreams of new land, a new life,ba better tomorrow. Dreams of a girl, somewhere beyond the hills, with a heart full of love she'd give to the wandering man.

The Ranatonga on a level keel, and spilling the wind from her sails, came round in a great curve on the dazzling water, her great shadow following her across the coral gardens of the lagoon floor. Then the rumble of the anchor chain echoed and passed away in the woods, and ship and shadow swung slowly to the tide and came to rest. To port lay the reef booming to the blue and to starboard the island beach of white coral sand, answering the reef with a thudding song, whilst north and south the two arms of the lagoon, curving, lost themselves beyond capes where the banyans and palms trooped to the very water.

They slept little that night, making their newfound love like people for whom the world is running out. Fern did not think of her Task, not because she had abandoned it, but because she felt it would present itself for her attention when the moment was right, and until then she had an intermission, a suspension of hostilities, given by whatever gods there were. They lay in the cave while outside the tide rose and fell, and she thought that in this life and maybe in all lives she would remember that love sounded like the sea, and the beat of her heart was waves on a beach, and she would hear its echo in the nucleus of every shell.

All about the hills the hosts of Mordor raged. The Captains of the West were foundering in a gathering sea. The sun gleamed red, and under the wings of the Nazgul the shadows of death fell dark upon the earth. Aragorn stood beneath his banner, silent and stern, as one lost in thought of things long past or far away; but his eyes gleamed like stars that shine the brighter as the night deepens. Upon the hill-top stood Gandalf, and he was white and cold and no shadow fell on him. The onslaught of Mordor broke like a wave on the beleaguered hills, voices roaring like a tide amid the wreck and crash of arms. As if to his eyes some sudden vision had been given, Gandalf stirred; and he turned, looking back north where the skies were pale and clear. Then he lifted up his hands and cried in a loud voice ringing above the din: The Eagles are coming! And many voices answered crying: The Eagles are coming! The Eagles are coming! The hosts of Mordor looked up and wondered what this sign might mean. There came Gwaihir the Windlord, and Landroval his brother, greatest of all the Eagles of the North, mightiest of the descendants of old Thorondor, who built his eyries in the inaccessible peaks of the Encircling Mountains when Middle-earth was young. Behind them in long swift lines came all their vassals from the northern mountains, speeding on a gathering wind. Straight down upon the Nazgul they bore, stooping suddenly out of the high airs, and the rush of their wide wings as they passed over was like a gale. But the Nazgul turned and fled, and vanished into Mordor's shadows, hearing a sudden terrible call out of the Dark Tower; and even at that moment all the hosts of Mordor trembled, doubt clutched their hearts, their laughter failed, their hands shook and their limbs were loosed. The Power that drove them on and filled them with hate and fury was wavering, its will was removed from them; and now looking in the eyes of their enemies they saw a deadly light and were afraid. Then all the Captains of the West cried aloud, for their hearts were filled with a new hope in the midst of darkness. Out from the beleaguered hills knights of Gondor, Riders of Rohan, Dunedain of the North, close-serried companies, drove against their wavering foes, piercing the press with the thrust of bitter spears. But Gandalf lifted up his arms and called once more in a clear voice: 'Stand, Men of the West! Stand and wait! This is the hour of doom.' And even as he spoke the earth rocked beneath their feet. Then rising swiftly up, far above the Towers of the Black Gate, high above the mountains, a vast soaring darkness sprang into the sky, flickering with fire. The earth groaned and quaked. The Towers of the Teeth swayed, tottered, and fell down; the mighty rampart crumbled; the Black Gate was hurled in ruin; and from far away, now dim, now growing, now mounting to the clouds, there came a drumming rumble, a roar, a long echoing roll of ruinous noise. 'The realm of Sauron is ended!' said Gandalf. 'The Ring-bearer has fulfilled his Quest.' And as the Captains gazed south to the Land of Mordor, it seemed to them that, black against the pall of cloud, there rose a huge shape of shadow, impenetrable, lightning-crowned, filling all the sky. Enormous it reared above the world, and stretched out towards them a vast threatening hand, terrible but impotent: for even as it leaned over them, a great wind took it, and it was all blown away, and passed; and then a hush fell. The Captains bowed their heads...

Child of the pure unclouded brow And dreaming eyes of wonder! Though time be fleet, and I and thou Are half a life asunder, Thy loving smile will surely hail The love-gift of a fairy-tale. I have not seen thy sunny face, Nor heard thy silver laughter; No thought of me shall find a place In thy young life’s hereafter – Enough that now thou wilt not fail To listen to my fairy-tale. A tale begun in other days, When summer suns were glowing – A simple chime, that served to time The rhythm of our rowing – Whose echoes live in memory yet, Though envious years would say “forget.” Come, hearken then, ere voice of dread, With bitter tidings laden, Shall summon to unwelcome bed A melancholy maiden! We are but older children, dear, Who fret to find our bedtime near. Without, the frost, the blinding snow, The storm-wind’s moody madness – Within, the firelight’s ruddy glow, And childhood’s nest of gladness. The magic words shall hold thee fast: Thou shalt not heed the raving blast. And though the shadow of a sigh May tremble through the story, For ‘happy summer days’ gone by, And vanish’d summer glory – It shall not touch with breath of bale The pleasance of our fairy-tale.

Come back again!’ she cried; and all the others echoed her; and the hills about Origny repeated the words, ‘Come back.’ But the river had us round an angle in a twinkling, and we were alone with the green trees and running water. Come back? There is no coming back, young ladies, on the impetuous stream of life. ‘The merchant bows unto the seaman’s star, The ploughman from the sun his season takes.’ And we must all set our pocket-watches by the clock of fate. There is a headlong, forthright tide, that bears away man with his fancies like a straw, and runs fast in time and space. It is full of curves like this, your winding river of the Oise; and lingers and returns in pleasant pastorals; and yet, rightly thought upon, never returns at all. For though it should revisit the same acre of meadow in the same hour, it will have made an ample sweep between-whiles; many little streams will have fallen in; many exhalations risen towards the sun; and even although it were the same acre, it will no more be the same river of Oise. And thus, O graces of Origny, although the wandering fortune of my life should carry me back again to where you await death’s whistle by the river, that will not be the old I who walks the street; and those wives and mothers, say, will those be you?

He: "I mean, are you happy and are you fully alive?" I laughed: ''As you can see, you wove witty jokes into the lecture to please your listeners. You heaped up learned expressions to impress them. You were restless and hasty, as if still compelled to snatch up all knowledge. You are not in yourself" Although these words at first seemed laughable to me, they still made an impression on me, and reluctantly I had to / credit the old man, since he was right. Then he said: "Dear Ammonius, I have delightful tidings for you: God has become flesh in his son and has brought us all salvation." ""What are you saying," I called, "you probably mean Osiris, who shall appear in the mortal body?" "No," he replied, "this man lived in Judea and was born from a virgin." I laughed and answered: "I already know about this; a Jewish trader has brought tidings of our virgin queen to Judea, whose image appears on the walls of one of our temples, and reported it as a fairy tale." "No," the old man insisted, "he was the Son of God." "Then you mean Horus the son of Osiris, don't you?" I answered. "No,hewasnotHorus,butarealman,andhewashung from a cross." "Oh, but this must be Seth, surely; whose punishments our old ones have often described." But the old man stood by his conviction and said: "He died and rose up on the third day." "Well, then he must be Osiris," I replied impatiently. "No," he cried, "he is called Jesus the anointed one." ''Ah, you really mean this Jewish God, whom the poor honor at the harbor, and whose unclean mysteries they celebrate in cellars." "He was a man and yet the Son of God," said the old man staring at me intently. "That's nonsense, dear old man," I said, and showed him to the door. But like an echo from distant rock faces the words returned to me: a man and yet the Son of God. It seemed significant to me, and this phrase was what brought me to Christianity. I: "But don't you think that Christianity could ultimately be a transformation ofyour Egyptian teachings?" A: "If you say that our old teachings were less adequate expressions of Christianity, then I'm more likely to agree with you." I: "Yes, but do you then assume that the history of religions is aimed at a final goal?" A: "My father once bought a black slave at the market from the region of the source of the Nile. He came from a country that had heard ofneither Osiris nor the other Gods; he told me many things in a more simple language that said the same as we believed about Osiris and the other Gods. I learned to understand that those uneducated Negroes unknowingly already possessed most of what the religions of the cultured peoples had developed into complete doctrines. Those able to read that language correctly could thus recognize in it not only the pagan doctrines but also the doctrine of Jesus. And it's with this that I now occupy myself I read the gospels and seek their meaning which is yet to come.We know their meaning as it lies before us, but not their hidden meaning which points to the future. It's erroneous to believe that religions differ in their innermost essence. Strictly speaking, it's always one and the same religion. Every subsequent form of religion is the meaning of the antecedent." I: "Have you found out the meaning which is yet to come?" A: "No, not yet; it's very difficult, but I hope I'll succeed. Sometimes it seems to me that I need the stimulation of others, but I realize that those are temptations of Satan." I: "Don't you believe that you'd succeed ifyou were nearer men?" A: "maybeyoureright." He looks at me suddenly as if doubtful and suspicious. "But, I love the desert, do you understand? This yellow, sun-glowing desert. Here you can see the countenance of the sun every day; you are alone, you can see glorious Helios-no, that is - pagan-what's wrong with me? I'm confused-you are Satan- I recognize you-give way; adversary!" He jumps up incensed and wants to lunge at me. But I am far away in the twentieth century.

April 12 MORNING “My heart is like wax; it is melted in the midst of my bowels.” — Psalm 22:14 OUR blessed Lord experienced a terrible sinking and melting of soul. “The spirit of a man will sustain his infirmity, but a wounded spirit who can bear?” Deep depression of spirit is the most grievous of all trials; all besides is as nothing. Well might the suffering Saviour cry to His God, “Be not far from me,” for above all other seasons a man needs his God when his heart is melted within him because of heaviness. Believer, come near the cross this morning, and humbly adore the King of glory as having once been brought far lower, in mental distress and inward anguish, than any one among us; and mark His fitness to become a faithful High Priest, who can be touched with a feeling of our infirmities. Especially let those of us whose sadness springs directly from the withdrawal of a present sense of our Father’s love, enter into near and intimate communion with Jesus. Let us not give way to despair, since through this dark room the Master has passed before us. Our souls may sometimes long and faint, and thirst even to anguish, to behold the light of the Lord’s countenance: at such times let us stay ourselves with the sweet fact of the sympathy of our great High Priest. Our drops of sorrow may well be forgotten in the ocean of His griefs; but how high ought our love to rise! Come in, O strong and deep love of Jesus, like the sea at the flood in spring tides, cover all my powers, drown all my sins, wash out all my cares, lift up my earth-bound soul, and float it right up to my Lord’s feet, and there let me lie, a poor broken shell, washed up by His love, having no virtue or value; and only venturing to whisper to Him that if He will put His ear to me, He will hear within my heart faint echoes of the vast waves of His own love which have brought me where it is my delight to lie, even at His feet for ever.

Ready yourselves!' Mullone heard himself say, which was strange, he thought, for he knew his men were prepared. A great cry came from beyond the walls that were punctuated by musket blasts and Mullone readied himself for the guns to leap into action. Mullone felt a tremor. The ground shook and then the first rebels poured through the gates like an oncoming tide. Mullone saw the leading man; both hands gripping a green banner, face contorted with zeal. The flag had a white cross in the centre of the green field and the initials JF below it. John Fitzstephen. Then, there were more men behind him, tens, then scores. And then time seemed to slow. The guns erupted barely twenty feet from them. Later on, Mullone would remember the great streaks of flame leap from the muzzles to lick the air and all of the charging rebels were shredded and torn apart in one terrible instant. Balls ricocheted on stone and great chunks were gouged out by the bullets. Blood sprayed on the walls as far back as the arched gateway, limbs were shorn off, and Mullone watched in horror as a bloodied head tumbled down the sloped street towards the barricade. 'Jesus sweet suffering Christ!' Cahill gawped at the carnage as the echo of the big guns resonated like a giant's beating heart. Trooper O'Shea bent to one side and vomited at the sight of the twitching, bleeding and unrecognisable lumps that had once been men. A man staggered with both arms missing. Another crawled back to the gate with a shattered leg spurting blood. The stench of burnt flesh and the iron tang of blood hung ripe and nauseating in the oppressive air. One of the low wooden cabins by the wall was on fire. A blast of musketry outside the walls rattled against the stonework and a redcoat toppled backwards onto the cabin's roof as the flames fanned over the wood. 'Here they come again! Ready your firelocks! Do not waste a shot!' Johnson shouted in a steady voice as the gateway became thick with more rebels. He took a deep breath. 'God forgive us,' Corporal Brennan said. 'Liberty or death!' A rebel, armed with a blood-stained pitchfork, shouted over-and-over.

THE RETURN OF THE GODS Like a white bird upon the wind, the sail of the boat of Manannan mac Lir (Pronounced Mananarn mak Leer), the Son of the Sea, flew across the sparkling waves filled with the breeze that blew Westward to the Islands of the Blessed. The Sun Goddess above him smiled down with warmth upon her friend. The fish in the ocean danced for him beneath the turquoise water; the porpoises leapt above the waves to greet him. Upon the wind was a smell of sweetness, the smell of apple blossom in the Spring of the morning of the world. And in the prow of the boat sat Lugh (Pronounced Loo) the long-armed; strumming on his harp, he sang the Song of Creation. And as they drew closer to the green hills of Ireland, the holy land of Ireland, the Shee came out of their earth-barrow homes and danced for joy beneath the Sun. For hidden in a crane-skin sack at the bottom of the boat was the Holy Cup of Blessedness. Long had been her journeying through lands strange and far. And all who drank of that Cup, dreamed the dreams of holy truth, and drank of the Wine of everlasting life. And deep within the woods, in a green-clad clearing, where the purple anemone and the white campion bloomed, where primroses still lingered on the shadowed Northern side, a great stag lifted up his antlered head and sniffed the morning. His antlers seven-forked spoke of mighty battles fought and won, red was his coat, the colour of fire, and he trotted out of his greenwood home, hearing on the wind the song of Lugh. And in her deep barrow home, the green clad Goddess of Erin, remembered the tongue that she had forgotten. She remembered the secrets of the weaving of spells, She remembered the tides of woman and the ebb and flow of wave and Moon. She remembered the people who had turned to other Gods and coming out of her barrow of sleep, her sweet voice echoed the verses of Lugh and the chorus of Manannan. And the great stag of the morning came across the fields to her and where had stood the Goddess now stood a white hind. And the love of the God was returned by the Goddess and the larks of Anghus mac Og hovering above the field echoed with ecstasy the Song of Creation. And in the villages and towns the people came out of their houses, hearing the sweet singing and seeking its source. And children danced in the streets with delight. And they went down to the shore, the Eastern shore, where rises the Sun of the Morning, and awaited the coming of Manannan and Lugh, the mast of their boat shining gold in the Sun. The sea had spoken, the Eastern dawn had given up her secret, the Gods were returning, the Old Ones awakening, joy was returning unto the sleeping land.  

Le Bon claimed that when individuals assemble in the street or at a political meeting, they spark in each other a mass reversion to a primitive state: “By the mere fact that he forms part of an organized crowd,” Le Bon wrote, “a man descends several rungs in the ladder of civilization.” By himself, “he may be a cultivated individual; in a crowd, he is a barbarian”—and becomes capable of the sort of irrational and brutal actions that characterize a street riot or lynch mob. “He possesses the spontaneity, the violence, the ferocity,” but also the “enthusiasm and heroism of primitive beings.”41 Since modern urban life and democratic politics create a wealth of opportunities for this kind of mass reversionary behavior (what another theorist, William Trotter, would call “the herd instinct”), enormous dangers loomed ahead for European industrial society. As Le Bon explained, echoing Jacob Burckhardt, “the advent of power of the masses marks one of the last stages of Western civilization … Its civilization is now without stability. The populace is sovereign, and the tide of barbarism mounts.”42 Therefore, the “true” character of mass democracy required a new approach to politics. Traditional parliamentary or legal institutions can no longer control the masses, Le Bon warned. What the crowd looks for, in its atavistic way, is instead a leader, a single powerful figure who can direct its irrational energies to constructive ends.*

fought back. A lot of it is not in the textbooks, but a lot of people fought back, and they were killed. You never hear about them anymore.’” Then, again, she said, “I lived it.” A silence settled between us, and I kept thinking about her refrain. I lived it. I lived it. I lived it. It echoed throughout the room and became the gravity around us. It crept into my ears and made a home in there. I watched the realization wash over her like a tide had risen around her body. There was so much I had not known about my grandmother’s life until this moment. So many painful experiences that she still carried deep in the marrow of her bones. I thought of how easily these memories might have slipped away with her, had we not sat down—these stories might have remained grains of sand at the bottom of an hourglass. I thought about all of the ways the world today is at once so different, and not so different at all. The exhibits at the museum were not abstractions for my grandparents; they were affirmations that what they had experienced was not of their imagination, and harrowing reminders that the scars of that era had not been self-inflicted. When my grandmother said, “I lived it,” what I heard was This museum is a mirror. When my grandmother said, “I lived it,” what I heard was My memories are an exhibit of their own. When my grandmother said, “I lived it,” what I heard was Always remember what this country did to us. When my grandmother said, “I lived it,” what I heard was Don’t let them tell you we didn’t fight back. When my grandmother said, “I lived it,” what I heard was I did not die. I have somehow made it here when so many did not. I escaped the jaws of

She was the moon, and he was the tide, and without her, the currents ceased to exist.

The great men and women of ancient times were dreamers in their own way. Pioneers, explorers, and cowboys lived with hopeful tomorrows and starry-eyed imaginings. They were lovers of the wind and tide, the romance of the deserts, mountains, and seas.  The thrill of the great unknown.  Despite their denials and insistence that there was nothing romantic about the way they lived, their actions spoke just the opposite. Dreams of new land, a new life, a better tomorrow. Dreams of a girl, somewhere beyond the hills, with a heart full of love she’d give to the wandering man. 

Life's a melody, a symphony of highs, Once so happy, now rollercoaster skies. Unpredictable, like whispers in the breeze, A journey through time, an odyssey of unease. Hold your decisions, let not the winds sway, For it's your right to stand firm and say, In the dance of chaos, in the cosmic play, Wait and watch, let not resolve decay. Life's capricious, like a fickle tide, But within you, a power to abide. Be positive, face the storm with pride, For in the chaos, dreams will not hide. Creator of destiny, author of your tale, In the crucible of struggle, where dreams prevail. Compromise not with dreams, let them set sail, You're the brightest star, let the world exhale. Struggle, a chapter, God's narrative grand, Your story, the echo, across the land. Known by the world, your destiny's hand, A tale that weeps, where dreams withstand. Fear not the struggle, be a rebel true, Not for the world, but for the "you." Ask daily, are you living your dream in view, In this one life, make your dreams breakthrough. Be the positive force in the universe's scheme, As I write this, I feel the motivation gleam. Creating a story, a powerful beam, Hold your promise, let your dreams redeem. You possess the power to dismantle the night, A force within, burning bright. Destiny's architect, shaping with might, Hold your dream, set the universe alight.

With a snarl of pain, she forced herself to sit up, her head spinning with the sudden movement. One hand touched her temple, sticky with dried blood. She winced, feeling a gash along her eyebrow. It was long but shallow, and already scabbing over. She clenched her jaw, teeth grinding, as she surveyed the beach with squinting eyes. The ocean stared back at her, empty and endless, a wall of iron blue. Then she noticed shapes along the beach, some half-buried in the sand, others caught in the rhythmic pull of the tide. She narrowed her eyes and the shapes solidified. A torn length of sail floated, tangled up with rope. A shattered piece of the mast angled out of the sand like a pike. Smashed crates littered the beach, along with other debris from the ship. Bits of hull. Rigging. Oars snapped in half. The bodies moved with the waves. Her steady breathing lost its rhythm, coming in shorter and shorter gasps until she feared her throat might close. Her thoughts scattered, impossible to grasp. All thoughts but one. “DOMACRIDHAN!” Her shout echoed, desperate and ragged. “DOMACRIDHAN!” Only the waves answered, crashing endless against the shore. She forgot her training and forced herself to stand, nearly falling over with dizziness. Her limbs aches but she ignored it, lunging toward the waterline. Her lips moved, her voice shouting his name again, though she couldn’t hear it above the pummel of her own heart. Sorasa Sarn was no stranger to corpses. She splashed into the waves with abandon, even as her head spun. Sailor, sailor, sailor, she noted, her desperation rising with every Tyri uniform and head of black hair. One of them looked ripped in half, missing everything from the waist down. His entrails floated with the rear of him, like a length of bleached rope. She suspected a shark got the best of him. Then her memories returned with a crash like the waves. The Tyri ship. Nightfall. The sea serpent slithering up out of the deep. The breaking of a lantern. Fire across the deck, slick scales running over my hands. The swing of a greatsword, Elder-made. Dom silhouetted against a sky awash with lightning. And then the cold, drowning darkness of the ocean. A wave splashed up against her and Sorasa stumbled back to the shore, shivering. She had not waded more than waist deep, but her face felt wet, water she could not understand streaking her cheeks. Her knees buckled and she fell, exhausted. She heaved a breath, then two. And screamed. Somehow the pain in her head paled in comparison to the pain in her heart. It dismayed and destroyed her in equal measure. The wind blew, stirring salt-crusted hair across her face, sending a chill down to her soul. It was like the wilderness all over again, the bodies of her Amhara kin splayed around her. No, she realized, her throat raw. This is worse. There is not even a body to mourn. She contemplated the emptiness for awhile, the beach and the waves, and the bodies gently pressing into the shore. If she squinted, they could only be debris from the ship, bits of wood instead of bloated flesh and bone. The sun glimmered on the water. Sorasa hated it. Nothing but clouds since Orisi, and now you choose to shine.

I have seen, there, In the moonlit space of self, where the ego glides, Its silvery essence, a mirror upon life’s tides. Shaped by the ebb and flow of journey’s dance, Reflecting beliefs, in life’s intricate, ever-changing stance. This luminary, a learned guide in identity’s play, Casts shadows, illusions in its luminous display. A sculptor, artful, in societal norms it trusts, Chiseling character with life’s whims and cultural dust. The ego, in its carnival, spins tales so keen, Crafting who we ought to be in expectations unseen. In costumes of roles and societal dreams it dresses, Creating our outward selves in myriad, intricate presses. In stark contrast, behold the inner sun, our essence so bright, A steadfast flame, in the core of our being, burning with pure light. Unfiltered, unwavering, unlike the moon’s fickle gleam, A constant force, our authentic self, a deep, untouched stream. This essence, our unchanging truth, in the heart it resides, A whisper of eternity, beyond masks, where true self abides. Beyond roles, beyond transient ego’s elaborate dance, Lies this truth, unswayed by the external world’s fleeting glance. In the quest for self, twixt these luminaries, discernment is key, Traversing the self’s tangle, understanding what must be. Though ego’s voice echoes loud, in desires and fears it plays, It’s the essence’s silent light that guides through life’s stormy bays. Through recognition, understanding, transformation’s alchemy begins, Turning life unexamined into enlightened existence’s wins. A celestial voyage, within us, between sun and moon’s embrace, Ego teaches, grows us, in our worldly place. The essence, radiant and wise, to eternity connects, Offering authenticity, a path that perfects. Yin and yang, in our existence, they intertwine, In their dance, our soul’s rhythm, in harmony, divine. In moon’s reflection and sun’s light, a balance we find, Understanding their interplay, the rhythm of humankind.

Observer: “In our being, where the tangible meets the intangible, there lies a duality as ancient as time itself - the ego and the essence. These twin forces, ever-present and perpetually intertwined, are the sun and moon of our inner universe, each holding sway over the landscape of our spirit in a dance as old as the stars.” Sun: “I am the essence, the unwavering light within. A constant, unfiltered sun, burning at the core of our being. Untouched by the transient world, I am the eternal truth in your heart, the perpetual whisper of your authentic self.” Moon: “And I, the ego, mirror the silver luminescence of experience. Shaped by the ebb and flow of life’s tides, I reflect the lessons, beliefs, and identities formed through your journey. In me, the tales of your identity are woven through societal norms and cultural echoes, ever-evolving and dynamic.” Sun: “Unlike you, who waxes and wanes, I am a perpetual beacon. I am solid, the silent guide amidst the storms of life, illuminating the path to enlightenment. I am the light that shines beyond all darkness, the eternal truth within.” Moon: “True, I may dance in shadows, casting illusions, but through my reflective glow, I bring lessons, growth, and an understanding of our place in the material world. My phases are a reminder of life’s impermanence and the transformative power of introspection and self-inquiry.” Sun: “It is in recognizing our dual nature that the process of transformation begins. From the unexamined to the enlightened existence, I offer wisdom, authenticity, and a connection to the eternal. Understanding the self is the key to liberation.” Moon: “Together, we form the yin and yang of existence. My reflective lessons and your radiant wisdom define the human experience. In understanding our dance, one finds the rhythm of their soul, a balance between action and introspection, between the material world and the spiritual journey.” Sun: “The journey of self is thus a celestial voyage between us. Embracing both my luminescence and your reflection leads to harmony, living attuned to the eternal rhythm of light and shadow.

A fast, seaworthy, very mobile diving boat with echo-sounder. Slack water for small area searches, but use fast tides and mobility of aqualung gear supported by small mobile diving boat to cover the large areas, especially in delimitation. Divers and boat handlers to be practised in working together; all divers to have practical underwater archaeological experience and to be well briefed for each separate wreck; land archaeologists with some understanding of the special problems to be carried in the boat whenever possible, and ultimately expected to dive. Basic assumption that the most important part of a wreck search is to go where there is no wreck, so that the characteristics of the natural seabed surrounding

Home, the susurration of chestnut leaves said. Home, the bees buzzed. Home, a raven called from its perch on the ridge of the roof. Home, my heart echoed. I belonged to this place where I’d never been, and a sense of rightness settled over me as Ravenswood exerted its pull, like the moon on the tides.

He thought she was his joy. No one had ever looked at her and seen anything but a strange girl who tried a little too hard to push people away. And now, she had this creature who had come out of the depths of the sea who looked at her like she’d hung the very moon itself.

Those words had never been in his vocabulary. Slow down? Why would he ever want to slow down when the sea called for him to move faster? With a laugh already bubbling free, he swam in a huge circle around the others. With his back arched and his tail rippling behind him, he was faster than the most darting fish. Nothing could evade him. Nothing could even catch him. At least until a massive hand caught the back of his tail and yanked him back toward the others. He stared up into the disapproving expression on Agalma’s face and tried not to anger her any further. She was the one running this whole mission, after all. Maketes was just here to talk with Ace and then get out. He wasn’t supposed to do anything other than that. He was definitely going to do a lot more than that. As if she could hear the thought pass through his mind, Agalma’s hand tightened around his fin. “Stop it, quick one. Your mind wanders too far from this mission and you’re going to ruin it.” “My mind is firmly on the mission. Get in, implant the chip, see what answers we can get. It’s not a hard mission.” Other than his interest in Ace. They’d been talking quite a bit since the end of Alpha, and he’d gotten the sense that Anya’s contact had a lot more information than he was providing. Every question Maketes had, Ace had an answer for. Which could only mean that the man was involved deeper in Gamma than any of the others realized.

Because we’re afraid if anyone sees who we really are, that they won’t like us. And what greater wound is there than to show someone who you really are and have them like you even less than the person you made up?

better? But what would become of me if I didn’t write what I can, however inferior it may be to what I am? In my ambitions I’m a plebeian, because I try to achieve; like someone afraid of a dark room, I’m afraid to be silent. I’m like those who prize the medal more than the struggle to get it, and savour glory in a fur-lined cape. For me, to write is self-deprecating, and yet I can’t quit doing it. Writing is like the drug I abhor and keep taking, the addiction I despise and depend on. There are necessary poisons, and some are extremely subtle, composed of ingredients from the soul, herbs collected from among the ruins of dreams, black poppies found next to the graves of our intentions, the long leaves of obscene trees whose branches sway on the echoing banks of the soul’s infernal rivers. To write is to lose myself, yes, but everyone loses himself, because everything gets lost. I, however, lose myself without any joy – not like the river flowing into the sea for which it was secretly born, but like the puddle left on the beach by the high tide, and its water sinks into the sand, never returning to the sea.

I wonder if he’s ever tasted salt water or got dizzy watching the tide pull away from his feet

He spun her world in silver-blue Catching in the light the faintest hues A maiden from a castle tall Its towers spun of silk But it could not stand against the winds Without foundation laid more firm And so the tide rushed forward And took it far from view Far, far away from view. She bent before the boat Laughter once in her eyes Silenced in the morning still And so she stepped into its web An echo of another age And weaving through the waters soft Like the Lady of Shalott Her Camelot in mind’s eye Too lost in silver-turned shadow gray To note the one who stood afar Beside the willowy tree behind Eyes cast in farther distance still Not far from where she lay. Her heart knew only the web that spun And onward she rowed, longer she held. Of silk, a flimsy dash of hope Of silk, a hope dashed in its midst Oh, its towers spun of silk. It could not stand It could not stand For, it was not a rock.

THE WEBSITE FOR SSA Marine says, “Accelerating the Pace of Business.” Its terminal is now giving off a deafening whir: engine sounds, horns, beeps, and the echoes of workers shouting. The giant cranes lift containers off the ship, sliding them inward fast enough that they swing a little bit in midair. Currently, the bay is full of the haze-lightened silhouettes of container ships, players in that sprawling, fractal network whose workings have recently come to the fore in headlines about the supply chain. In the restored marsh along the park, clusters of migrating shorebirds are keeping their own schedule. It’s currently three hours from high tide, and on the shrinking islands, tiny sandpipers sit together so densely that they look like a tessellated pattern. Stalking around them are a variety of spidery birds, including long-billed curlews, which have surreal curved beaks more than half the length of their entire bodies. They are back for the time being, having traveled northeast to breed—possibly as far as Idaho—and in the meantime, they adjust their activities to the tides. On the one hand, it is true that you can see multiple forms of time here. The containers pile up; the shorebirds probe the mud; the phoebe chases its flies; a small, brown mushroom pushes up from the grass; and the tide continues to rise. Your stomach rumbles. But one of these clocks is not like the others. In order to maintain its equilibrium, it has to run ahead faster and faster.

Zesty hormones surged—not to carry wedges of information or holistic images, as in Quath, but to flood the bloodstream with urgent demands. Organs far from the brain answered these chemical heralds, pumping other hormones into the thumping flow, adding alkaline voices to the babble. Ideas rose like crystalline towers from this swamp, glimmering coolly—but soon were spattered with the aromatic chemical murk, blood on glass. These elements merged and wrestled, struggling armies rushing together in flurries, fermenting, spinning away into wild skirmishes. Lurid splashes festooned the brittle ramparts of analytical thought. A churning mire lapped hungrily at the stern bulwarks of reason, eroding worn salients even as fresh ones were built. Yet somehow this interior battle did not yield mere confusion and scattered indecision. Somehow a single coherent view emerged, holding the vital, fervent factions in check. Its actions sampled of all the myriad influences, letting none dominate for long. Quath marveled at the sheer energy behind the incessant clashings, and at the same time felt a mixture of recognition laced by repulsion. This Nought’s inner landscape was far more complex than it should be. No wonder it had not attained the technological sophistication of the podia!—it labored forward in a howling storm, its every sharp perception blunted by fraying winds of passion. But by the same stroke, it had a curious way of skating on the surface of these choppy, alchemical crosscurrents. Some balance and uncanny steadiness came from that. It was much like the way they walked—falling forward, then rescuing themselves by catching the plunge with the other leg. This yielded a rocking cadence that echoed the precarious nature of the being itself. Not a single mind… and not multiple, interlocking intelligences, such as Quath.

After a few hundred million more spins around the Sun, bipedal mammals descended from these fish chipped some of their bones out of rock exposed on Canada’s frigid Ellesmere Island, near the Arctic Circle. The humans named one of these fish Tiktaalik and saw, in its fossilized remains, echoes of themselves and a link to our aquatic history. Tiktaalik, the first fish with a neck and a primitive wrist, likely had both lungs and gills. Fish like Tiktaalik and their relatives ushered in the tetrapods, the first four-legged beasts to walk on land. The descendants of the first fortunate walking fish, stranded by the tides, became the common ancestors of the dinosaurs, and the birds, and the reptiles, and the mammals, and me, and you.

I cherish the moonlight, a soft, silver glow, painting the night with a luminous flow. It whispers of secrets in shadows that sway, guiding lost wanderers who’ve drifted away. The rainstorms arrive with a passionate cry, a symphony pouring from the vast, stormy sky. Each drop is a heartbeat, each flash is a spark, igniting the soul in the depths of the dark. I revel in moments that breathe with a pulse, in laughter and longing, in silence and impulse. From the rustle of leaves to the songs of the sea, so many things hold a spirit in me. Enchanted by dolphins, in oceans so grand, their playful leaps echo the joy of the land. They dance with the waves, in a shimmering play, whispering tales of the deep, where the heart longs to stay. The warmth of the sun on a crips summer day, the dance of the fireflies that flicker and sway. In the essence of life, where the wild things roam, I find the deep beauty that calls me back home. In the hush of the tide, where the mysteries dwell, I’m wrapped in the magic that words cannot tell. From moonlit reflections to the ocean's embrace, I love all the wonders that fill this vast space...

My offer to Thalia still stands to this day. I know she won’t take it. But I understand now. Because she was right–this is who she is. I cannot pretend to know what it must have been like to gaze at that face in the mirror each day, to take stock of its ghastly ruin, and to summon the will to accept it. The mountainous strain of it, the effort, the patience. Her acceptance taking shape slowly, over years, like rocks of a beachside cliff sculpted by the pounding tides. It took the dog minutes to give Thalia her face, and a lifetime for her to mold it into an identity.

Crystalised" You've applied the pressure To have me crystallized And you've got the faith That I could bring paradise I'll forgive and forget Before I'm paralyzed Do I have to keep up the pace To keep you satisfied? Things have gotten closer to the sun And I've done things in small doses So don't think that I'm pushing you away When you're the one that I've kept closest You don't move slow In taking steps in my direction The sound resounds echo Does it lessen your affection? No You say I'm foolish For pushing this aside But burn down our home I won't leave alive Glaciers have melted to the sea I wish the tide would take me over I've been down on my knees And you just keep on getting closer Glaciers have melted to the sea (Things have gotten closer to the sun) I wish the tide would take me over (And I've done things in small doses) I've been down onto my knees (So don't think that I'm pushing you away) And you just keep on getting closer (When you're the one that I've kept closest) Go slow Go slow Go slow Go slow Go slow

Life on this planet has been evolving and transforming itself since the beginning of time as we know it. It is not poetry, but science when I say this: we are descendants of fish that crawled out of the ocean. We breathe air exhaled from trees whose leaves are made of starlight. We have oxygen thanks to the primordial kelps that created this biosphere. The mushrooms we eat come from space; they strengthen both the communications networks in our brains as well as between the plants and soil. We have stardust in our bones. Our veins echo the patterns of rivers, branches, and root system. The moon moves the blood in women’s wombs to the same rhythm as the tides of the oceans. We are not a part of Nature. We are Nature.

For everyone who felt like they weren’t enough, you are. And I’m not the only one who thinks that.

She needed to forget that awful day. To forget him. Her life had moved on. And yet his absence continued to shape the contours of her days. The echo of his laughter lingered in the hallway of her Manhattan apartment.

For once, Win, I wish you would fucking listen to me.” “Vane!” “What?” he barks. “Your eyes are black.” He rushes over to a tide pool and looks at his reflection. The words I chose while reaching out to Vane echo in my head. If you choose me, you choose him too. That’s what I told the shadow. “Vane, I think—” He turns around and meets my gaze. Even though his eyes are black, I can still sense him searching mine. I know he can feel it—we are sharing the Neverland Death Shadow. The shadow is split between us.

Maketes,” she said, before launching herself at him. His arms came up for her as though he knew what she wanted. Those strong arms caught her with ease, only sinking back into the water a little and only with the slightest “oof” as she kneed him in the gills. But she couldn’t get close enough. She couldn’t hold on to him tight enough to feel like she was finally safe. His clawed hands came around her, clasping her tighter and pressing her underneath his chin, where she was nestled against the cold chill of his gills. He exhaled through them, water spilling down over her body, but she didn’t care. She only knew that in this moment, she wasn’t alone anymore. “Kefi?” he asked, his voice pitched low, as though he was afraid something was in the cave with them. “You’re okay, dear one. You’re all right. I’m here.” She shook her head against his throat. “I don’t know what happened.” “I’m not leaving again.” He flexed his tail underneath her, swimming them to the edge of the water. Then, with a sudden jerk of his tail, he propelled them out of the water enough so that he was sitting on the sand.

I’m sorry,” she whispered against his chest. “For what?” “For... this.” “You don’t have to apologize to me. Ever.” He held her even tighter, his arms shifting around her back as he got more comfortable. “I was bringing you a fish to eat, but I’ll admit, this is far more pleasant.” She huffed out a small laugh, her breath fanning across his chest and sending tiny goosebumps dancing across his skin. “Pleasant? It’s nice for me to attack you the moment you show up?” “This is the kind of attack I enjoy.” Again, that big hand smoothed down her spine, and suddenly this wasn’t just easing her fear. It was more. It was so much more.

Her heart was already beating harder and more heat burned between her legs. She wanted him. She wanted him to move that hand that was on the small of her back even lower so she could feel him grip her ass. That massive hand would have no issue grabbing onto her, rolling her over, moving her against his body as she so desperately wanted. She wanted to grind down on him. She wanted to rock against him so those scales rubbed against her clit in a way she knew would be life changing. Ace just... wanted. He’d saved her life more times than she could count. And as she leaned a little farther back from him, her eyes half lidded and heavy with desire, she saw the same need in him as well. Maketes lifted his hand between them, those thick fingers brushing up her neck and gently cupping the side of her head. There was so much power in that hand. She’d seen him kill people without a thought, and yet he was shaking to remain as gentle with her as he could. “I almost lost you,” he whispered, his words guttural and harsh. “I do not like this feeling, kefi.” “Yeah, me either,” she replied, seeing his gills flutter against the sides of his head.

She moaned, the little sound echoing around them. Ace froze, her eyes widening a bit as though she didn’t intend to make the sound. “Again,” he growled, rolling his tail between her legs a little harder this time. The whimper she made was the prettiest sound he’d ever heard, and even then, he wanted more. It would never be enough to hear just the one little sound of her walls breaking down. Maketes wanted to swallow down every sound of pleasure she made. He wanted to press the scent of her desire into his scales so he would never forget this moment. One of her hands slid down to his chest, bracing herself so his movements didn’t knock her free from his tail. “Do you know what a kiss is?” she asked. “Yes.” Of course he did. He’d seen both of his brothers press their lips to their mates, and though he’d thought it was rather odd, it was more than tempting. With Ace, he wanted to do everything. He wanted to taste every inch of her body, even if these thoughts were perhaps too much. He couldn’t devour her the first time she let him touch her. “Can I kiss you?” she asked, and he could hear the vulnerability in that question.

With a deep growl under his breath, he let his hands wander where they wished. He grabbed handfuls of her ass, feeling the softness, just the right amount that he could grab onto. The plushness in his grip nearly sent him into a void of pleasure and desire from which he would never escape. That growl in his chest grew louder as he used the leverage of his grasp to thrust her even harder against him. Her breasts flattened against him, pressing against his chest as all of her was suddenly against all of him. “Gods, there’s so much of you I want to taste, kefi. But first, give me your lips.” That was all it took. She fell into him, the soft cushions of her lips pressing against his, and it unleashed an animal inside of him. The sound he made was a moan of pure anguish. With lips and teeth and tongue, he tried to devour her. Her taste flooded into his mouth, the sweetest sunshine of her lips that only made him need her even more. He kissed her without skill or talent, only pure desire as he delved between her lips. Seeking more of that taste. Needing to touch her more.

Kefi,” he growled, the words rumbling through him before he could catch them. “I need you to trust me.” “I do.” “Because I know you think I’m an animal, perhaps capable of hurting you even after all that we have done together.” “I trust you,” she repeated, her words breathless. “Good, because for a few minutes, it’s going to feel like I’m trying to consume you.” Then he descended upon her. His hands grabbed onto her sides, holding her in place as his tongue traced along her skin. He licked to the peak of her breast, drawing that rosy tip into his mouth and swirling his tongue along the sun kissed taste of her. The tip beaded against his tongue, and the more he touched her, the more she moaned. Her hands came down into his hair as he licked her, sucking hard enough that she arched against him again. He switched to the other breast, tasting her as he had been begging to do for such a long time in his mind. And still, it wasn’t enough. Maybe the problem was his hands. He grabbed onto her ass again, yanking her against him so she could roll like she had done before.

He leaned forward and nipped at her neck with those sharp teeth, right over the spot that still stung a bit if she focused on it. Then the menace said, “Are you going to ask me about this?” She waited for the original rage and fear to come bubbling up like it had when she’d first touched her neck and realized he’d done something to her. But instead, all she could feel was the smallest sense of warmth and maybe a bit of irritation. But it was irritation that also made her want to tease him. “I guess.” Ace released one hand from his shoulders and touched the soft spot on her throat. “I did notice that something was different here.” “My people have found a way to connect with yours.” His hand shifted under her bottom, one broad finger slowly stroking between her legs before he retreated back to holding onto her. “Besides that, of course.” Her cheeks flamed bright red. “Stop that.” “Stop what?” This time his opposite hand moved up her side, gently brushing against her breast before retreating. “Do you not want me to touch you, kefi?” “No.” Wait — “I mean, yes. It’s fine if you touch me. You’re just distracting me from this conversation.” “Maybe.” Those talented fingers pressed down against her ribs, hauling her a little higher in the water until her breasts were at eye level for him. She could see the heat in his eyes again, and it made something in her squirm. “Perhaps I need to distract you better.

Maketes leaned away and tilted her chin up. “Look at the sunset, Ace. You deserve to see it for every second that I can let you.” “My name isn’t Ace,” she whispered, her gaze locked on the darkening sky. “It’s just what I prefer people to call me. My name is Maura.” “Maura,” he repeated, and then shook his head. “Ace is a wonderful name, too.” “Thank you. For everything, Maketes.” He leaned down and rested his head in her lap, wrapping his arms around her waist and holding her for a little while longer. “You’re welcome.

had a feeling it would be like this,” he murmured. “From the first moment Anya spoke of you, I could feel that the sea wanted to draw me to your side. But I never guessed how this would feel.” “How does it feel?” He traced her bottom lip with his thumb. “Oh, kefi, someday I will tell you that.” “You harbor a lot of secrets, undine.” “Shh.” He pressed that thumb over her mouth to silence her. “Stop talking. You’re going to miss this moment, just like you might have missed the sun.

would like to do this with you someday. I will hold you as the sea rocks us to sleep.” Somehow, it felt like a sexual thing to say. He watched as her pupils blew out, her already dark eyes grew even darker as her breath caught in her throat. He wondered what was going through her mind. Perhaps she, too, was stuck remembering that she’d promised to kiss him with that mouth. That she’d promised to show him that achromos were better with their tongues than any of his people could hope to be. Maybe it was a dream, though. There was a long way for them to go before they would be alone again. He had half a mind to encourage this moment. If he drew her even closer, kissed her as he had before, perhaps she could be convinced. They could linger here in the cave for days if they wanted to. Because now that she’d mentioned using her mouth, he wanted to taste her as well. He should have talked with Arges or Daios more about... all of this. He knew that they had mated with their females. Both of them always smelled like their partners, no matter how long they had been gone from their sides. The scent of their women was melted into their scales at this point, and that was something he wanted as well. How, though? He had no idea. Maketes wasn’t exactly experienced in this. He’d only ever tried to mate with a female of his own kind once, and it hadn’t gotten very far. He had seen the swiping claws and the rage on the female’s face as she’d swam at him. Terror was to be expected during mating but that feeling had been enough for him to call it off. Ace seemed kinder. Softer. She was ready and willing to welcome him with open arms instead of claws and teeth.

A soft laugh bubbled out of her, flowing into him with the soft sound. And then she was stroking his hair, like she seemed to always enjoy. He curved into her touch, knowing this was the last chance they’d have for a little while yet. “Maketes?” she said. “Yes?” “What does kefi mean?” “I will tell you when all of this is done. When you have your hands on that key, and when your sister is free from the man who would kill her.” He turned his head and pressed a kiss to her palm. “No matter what happens, you are always my kefi, and I will help you until the very end of this.” He could see how his words hurt her. She flinched as though he’d struck her, but there was also safety in what he said. Because they were a vow. He would protect her and her kin for the rest of his life, even if that was insanity.

Another rumble of thunder preceded him lifting his head, and a bolt of lightning illuminated the look of determination. As though he’d already come to the same conclusion she had just thought of. As though he knew he would tear the world down for her. The first drops of rain hit them. Heavy, thick balls that splattered on her shoulders and down into her hair. They were drenched in moments, staring at each other as an icy wind blew up as well. “Ask me,” he said, his voice low and quiet. “Ask me and it will be done.” “I’m not a murderer. I’m a thief.” “I am a murderer. You have seen me kill for less than keeping those you love safe. The burden will not be yours to bear. It will be mine.” Rain dripped down her cheeks, or maybe those were tears, because they burned hot enough to brand her cheeks. “I can’t ask you to kill someone.” “You won’t be asking me to do that. You’re asking me to save someone’s life, and how I do it is up to me.” He reached up and smoothed his thumbs along her cheeks. “You have to know by now that I would do anything for you, kefi.” She did. And that terrified her because there were so many things she could ask him to do. So many paths down this road that would end in blood and violence.

There should have been a way for him to say that she meant far more to him than just a friend. That he wanted her to be with him all the time, and when they were apart, he felt strange. He wanted to listen to her talk, collect all of her smiles, and all the other things that were probably too clingy for him to ever say to her.

I don’t know what god smiled upon me when they sent you to my side, but I am grateful for it.” “I am the lucky one, kefi.” “No, I don’t think you understand. You’ve been so kind to me. You’ve worked to make me a stronger person in such a short amount of time and I don’t know what I give back, or what I even could. I owe you so much more than just my life, Maketes.” His breath fanned over her collarbone, and he dragged her closer to his hearts. “No. You owe me nothing.

Stop talking,” she whispered. “I don’t want to stop talking. I want to tell you a thousand more ways of how I love you. I only said it once so far, Ace. There are many more ways I could tell you. For example⁠—” She kissed him, and all the thoughts fled out of his head. Those lips against his were the softest things he’d ever touched. He loved it when she did this. He loved kissing her and feeling her little inhalations when he surged forward so their chests were pressed against each other. He loved holding her, feeling her tiny hands pressing against both of his hearts that beat only for her. He loved it even more when she made those little noises in the back of her throat. The little moans that filled the entire cave with the sound of her pleasure. The sounds that made him see stars and want to feast upon every part of her body. All of it and more was what he loved about her. She was a fantasy come to life. Better than any dream he could have dreamt up with his own mind. “I meant every word,” he said against her lips, urging her backward until she was leaning against a stone. “I do love you.” “I know you do, Maketes. Because I love you, too.” “Fuck,” he groaned, tilting his head back slightly before looking back at her.

Jacob cleared his throat, obviously a little uncomfortable. “There is a key in another tower that I need you to get. The problem is that we can’t get into the other towers, and we aren’t sure which tower it’s in to begin with. But that key is vital to us being safe and living where we are. It holds a great amount of power in Gamma, and I want it.” She hadn’t ever heard about a key. A key to what? “All we need from you is transportation. You will bring Ace to the main tower where I believe the key was last seen, and then you will pick her back up and bring her here. We even have a dive suit that will suffice for travel, so the only thing you have to worry about is getting her in and out of a building.” Jacob spread his hands wide with a grin that was far too smarmy for comfort. “It’s an easy job to do, and in return, I’ll give you the best weapons you’ll ever have.” That was a stretch. She didn’t have to say it though, because Maketes was quick to reply, “The best weapons are my own hands, achromo. I could rip your head off and toss it into the crowd of your people before you take your next breath. Let’s not pretend you can create any weapon more deadly than me.” She felt faint. She knew her face had turned white at the same time she felt dizzy because Jacob immediately snarled, “What did he say?” She didn’t know how to lie about that one.

She couldn’t protect herself. Not from that amount of power and speed. They would kill her so quickly⁠— Jacob shook her. “Ace, what did he say?” Before she could try to make up something that wouldn’t cause Jacob to tell everyone to open fire, Maketes spoke again. This time, he scratched his claws down the metal floor as well, making a horrible sound that all the humans winced at. “We will accept this deal of his. We will take you to the tower you speak of, and we will provide you with whatever else you need.” The other, larger undine hissed, “We need to talk about this.” “Tell him now, Ace.” She respected that the bigger undine might have a little more say in this situation, but she wasn’t going to risk ignoring a direct order. She looked at Jacob and said, “They accept.” “Unwillingly, it seems.” “There’s some back and forth between them, but it seems like the overall consensus is that they accept.” Which was a lie. But she knew it was the only decision she could make, considering the threat of death right in front of her. “Good achromo,” Maketes said with a grin, all of his sharp teeth on display. “I will be back for you soon." “When?” The undine were already sinking back underneath the water, one by one.

Uncle Mark?” Zelda’s voice, so quiet he almost didn’t hear it. “I knew you’d think I was crazy.” His body stiffened and his eyes clamped tight. As the boiling pasta grew soggy, Maya’s words echoed in his thoughts, clearer than he wanted to admit. “The veil festers and widens.” “Ajar… A jar… J’harr.” Because how could you tell someone the improbable? The impossible? Something your entire reality had been built on denying? Trust, he realized.

A strange creature. Mira and Anya both stood out in their own way. Mira for her flaming hair and loud voice, Anya because of her gold locks and her soft smiles that drew people in. This female was neither of those things. She was secretive. Hidden in plain sight. “You are Ace?” he said, his voice low with wonderment. “You’re female?” She didn’t understand a word he said, of course. Both he and Anya had thought that Ace had to be a man. Only a man would be so foolish as to risk all that Ace risked. And yet... This was a female before him. A female with soft, brown eyes that stared up at him like he was looking into the depths of the sea. He’d never seen a gaze that deep before. And in those depths, he saw a secret that was hidden from everyone else. How he wanted to peel back every layer she’d built around herself to hide whatever that treasure was, just so he could plunder it. Without a word, he reached into the bag and held the translator chip out to her.

Jacob clapped a hand on her shoulder. “That’s right. And it’s a good thing you already talked with Ace, because she’ll be helping you get what I want.” Wait, what? She wasn’t supposed to go anywhere. Ace had her spot in this tower, and that was fixing the droids and making weapons whenever those were necessary. She didn’t go on missions. She didn’t risk her life or do any of the other stupid things that everyone else did. Ace stayed home. Safe, sound, and useful. That was her job. Until, she realized, Jacob decided it wasn’t any longer. She never should have trusted this lint licker. Maketes eyed her and then looked back at Jacob. “You will not wish to repeat this to him. This man is lying. We can smell it in the air, and whatever he wants, it’s not worth the risk. I would prefer that you risked your life with me, because I can keep you safe in this sea. However, you need to know that this man does not mean well. He feeds you to the sea, knowing that you may not return.” She knew Jacob expected her to say something. She had to repeat and translate. “He asks what kind of mission you’re going to send them on.

Maketes watched her sleep. She probably didn’t think he could see her, especially not when he slid back into the water. But the much smaller room she’d chosen to sleep in had a window as well. It was easy for him to swim out into the dark waters and situate himself where he could watch her. Just in case anything went wrong. And maybe just because he liked looking at her. He’d been right about her hair drying into a pretty color. There were streaks of lighter brown in it, and it was darker underneath, giving layers that made her hair shine now that it was clean. He had half a mind to ask how it had gotten that greasy and unclean. Was there nowhere to bathe in Gamma? That couldn’t be right. There were so many places for her to bathe, considering they lived surrounded by the ocean. But everyone there had been dirty. Even the men that had been surrounding her had been grimy, just like her. With his tail anchoring him to kelp, Maketes watched her.

The moment she stirred, he quickly headed back to the opening. He was right where he should be the moment she staggered into the main room, yawning and rubbing her eyes. She had her glasses in her hand, and he marveled at the roundness of her features. He was so used to his kind’s angular faces. The sharp edges and hard jawlines were strong and proud, and he was certain she must find him attractive in a way. But she had a face like the shape of the moon. Her cheeks were so soft looking, with a smattering of freckles and the rosy hues of a blush. And when she slid those glasses back in place, focusing on him where he waited for her to look at him, he felt like all the breath in his lungs was stolen. An achromo that was all his own. Maybe that was all he’d been waiting for. “Good morning,” he said, feeling his gills already standing straight out as he waited for her to notice him. Her brows furrowed, and she winced. “Is it a good morning?” “You seemed to sleep well.

Remember our deal. If we don’t get that key, you don’t get the weapons.” “I couldn't care less about your weapons,” he replied, knowing full well that only Ace could understand him. “I do this as a favor for her, not for you.” He thought he was the only one who heard her tiny gasp echo inside the chamber of her bubble. And it would probably be dangerous for anyone else to have heard it. These people didn’t seem trustworthy to him, and he’d rather have Ace in his arms now rather than theirs. He reached for her, his hands wide and his claws already curled. Ready to protect her. But unfortunately, she only saw it as a threat. He knew how scary he must look, but he’d forgotten that he was large in comparison to her. No one was frightened of him. Not usually, at least. But she hesitated before putting her hands on his shoulders, and then he scooped her up and dove perhaps a little too quickly. But he would take no risks when it came to this strange achromo. She would be safer with him than with them.

No, kefi. You only have one heartbeat. It will not be long now. I will hold you until the end.

He moved back to the surface with two halves of the pod already open. “The innards of this plant foam. One of our females said that it cleans the hair very nicely.” She reached for it, huffing out an angry sound when he held it back from her. “Can I have that?” she growled. “No.” A muscle in her jaw jumped as she clenched her teeth. Somehow she still ground out, “Why not?” Because he wanted to touch her. Because he wanted to see how soft she was and if she felt the way he thought she might. But saying all of that would scare her off, and he had no interest in ending this adventure. So instead, he reached for her. His hand slid around her waist, fingers curling around the cooled flesh even as he felt the strange sensation of her shivering. She shuddered against his touch and he thought for the briefest of moments it was because she might enjoy his touch. Even if that was only a dream, it surely was a wondrous one. Maketes drew her through the water, turning her body so her back was pressed against his chest. At this angle, his tail was just long enough to wedge against the wall. It gave him a steady brace for her spine, with his tail lifting between her legs. She could sit on him, which she seemed to fight for a moment before giving in. Then her legs straddled his tail, the sudden heat of her core nearly burning through his scales, and he had to remind himself he wasn’t doing this for that sensation.

You’re a lot more tolerable with your mouth shut.” She could feel her cheeks flaming bright hot. Damn man kept doing this to her. She didn’t want to blush in front of him, but he pushed so hard. Every time she thought she had control over the situation, he flipped it back to his favor. He grinned, as though he knew her frustrations. “A lot of people have said that to me. But you know what I always say?” “No, I honestly don’t care to hear it, either.” He leaned a little closer, so close that she could see there were faint purple freckles on his cheeks. Just barely visible, like little lavender paint flecks. “You’d miss me if I shut up.” “I really don’t think I would.” “You want me to disappear and leave you here alone?” Immediately panic flared. She didn’t want to be alone in this unknown tower, and she didn’t want him out with those depthstriders. “Didn’t you say it was a hunting night? And you wouldn’t even stay in the water because they might bite you?” “Maybe I just didn’t want you to be alone.” Her droid clinked in his fingers, a slight whirring sound coming from them as though they were humming. “It’s awfully scary in here, don’t you think?” “It’s a doctor’s office.” “But you don’t know who’s on the other side of that door, or on the other side of that window.” His hand came down on his chest, smoothing down the rippling muscles there and drawing her gaze to the movement. “Perhaps you need a big, strong male to keep you safe.” That’s exactly what she needed. One with abs that flexed under her gaze and biceps that made her want to bite them. What? No! She let out a disgusted sound and stalked away from him before she did something stupid. “Shut up, you big oaf!” “Whatever you say, kefi.

Breathing in the seawater scent of him, she sighed, “Terrible dream.” “I can banish it with you, if you’d like.” “How do I do that?” His thumb moved along her cheek again, so gentle that it made her feel fragile in his grip. “You share the dream, kefi. You tell me what it means, where it came from, and then I take it into the sea. The next time I am in the abyss, I will leave it there for you.” Ace opened her eyes, smiling at him even though it hurt to do so. “I don’t think I want to talk about it.” “Then that’s all right too.” He tried to smile, but she could see the pain in his eyes. “You don’t have to share anything you don’t want to.” Damn it, those tears burned her eyes again. She couldn’t be weak like this. This was why she’d never gotten attached to anyone. If she was weak, then she would cry, and nothing would get done. She had to bury it all deep inside herself, even if it meant that she constantly had stomach aches and felt like her chest was on fire.

Her legs were tight around his waist, tucked up against his rib gills and making it a little difficult to breathe. But he didn’t mind so much, because all he could smell was the faintest hint of her scent. It filtered through his gills, giving him the sensation of bright places above the surface. She’d never been, but he was certain her scent was what it was to smell sunshine. Those tiny hands were pressed against his chest, and he could easily feel the strength of her thighs against him. Already he could feel his gills starting to shake. Which was foolish. He knew he was here on a job, and she hadn’t shown any inclination that she was interested in him at all. In fact, he would suggest that she was anything but interested. Ace had made it very clear that she wanted to stay far away from him and just get this over with. Unfortunately for them both, his gills that had never moved in his life were starting to wake up. Clearing his throat, he tried very hard to distract himself. “Why did they send you, of all people?” She looked up at him, her nose wrinkled in confusion. “What?” “Why did they send you? There were plenty of other people.” She shrugged. “I assume because I was the only one who was offered the translation device.

But his words went right through her heart and deep into her soul. When had anyone else ever told her she deserved anything? “Now I don’t know what to do with myself,” she whispered, her gaze locked on the image of them in the glass. “I am floundering on who I want to be now that I have done what I fought to do for so many years. So I’m still here. Still working with Jacob. Still trying to figure out who I am now that everything is over.” She could see his arm tightening. Felt him draw her closer to his body, and how there was barely restrained power in his touch that suggested he wanted to hold her even harder. “Then we will figure it out together, Ace. We’re friends, aren’t we?” Why did that hurt so much to hear him say? Why did she want him to turn her around and rip this stupid helmet off? “Friends,” she repeated. “Of course we are.” Even though that felt so wrong to say. He hadn’t been her friend when he was helping her destroy Alpha. He hadn’t been her friend when they’d stayed in touch, learning more about each other’s cultures while it was still easy for her to pretend he was just another human. She hadn’t wanted to be friends then and admitting it to herself now was hard enough. She’d never say these words out loud. Because he wanted to be friends. Just like everyone else always wanted to be friends with her. The think he desired more? That was an impossible dream that neither he nor she could entertain.

She needed to get out of her own head. This was an undine. A monster. A deep sea creature who likely was going to continue killing people and saw no issues with her having been the cause of an entire human city being destroyed. It was silly for her to even think he wanted anything more. His careful hands were merely because he thought she was weak.

Her eyes were a little unfocused when she looked up at him and wheezed, “Ow.” “Where are you hurt?” He ran his hands up and down her sides, trying to find the wound that pained her. He skimmed his fingers down her sides, finding more of that softness that was so intriguing, but right now, he had to focus on the injuries that she’d thrust upon herself. Foolish female. Foolish achromo taking risks like that. “I’m fine!” she insisted, slapping at his hands. But she was still making that awful wheezing sound. It didn’t sound like it was coming from her throat, but he didn’t know what else would make that noise. She made a few coughing sounds, and he wondered if she’d broken her ribs. He could feel them when he squeezed her hard, so he knew she had them just like he did. Leaning down, he pressed his head against her sternum. Right between the rather full, interesting breasts that he definitely wasn’t looking at because he needed to listen to her heart beat. Perhaps it was her heart that was struggling. The moment he pressed his head down, he knew what the problem was. She had seriously injured herself because there was only one beat in her chest. One thud. Steady and even, but it was still only the one. He left his head against her skin, not wanting her to see his expression as he realized she was dying. “Oh, Ace. This is grave indeed.

I knocked the wind out of myself, you moron! Get off of me.” He leaned into her harder, ignoring how she put her hands on his head to push him away. “No, kefi. You only have one heartbeat. It will not be long now. I will hold you until the end.” Why did it hurt so badly to think he had lost her this early? She had said they were friends. That is what she wanted from him, and therefore, that was what he would be. He’d never wanted to be someone’s friend so badly. Perhaps more, of course. He would have been very happy with more, but he would take what he could get. And if that meant holding her until the end, guiding her soul into the deep where the sea mother would watch over her, then that was exactly what he would do. “Maketes—” “Shh, kefi. I am sorry I failed you. I should have kept you safer.” If he had been here, prepared to enter the room with her, perhaps she wouldn’t have made such a mistake. Perhaps she wouldn’t have risked her life. This was his fault. This was all his fault, and how was he going to live with this guilt? He was usually so good at thrusting aside his emotions, but right now, it was almost impossible to do. Then her fingers carded through his hair. Those talented, thin fingers brushed through the coiled tangles on his head and gently rubbed at his scalp. The same way he’d done to her.

He waited. Listening to her heart beat while her grip made its way down to the back of his neck, massaging tense muscles that couldn’t release. No matter how hard she worked at them. No matter how wonderful it felt for her to touch him. It set in that her heart wasn’t slowing. She was still here. Touching him. Breathing. And her heart was still beating. Slowly, he lifted his head from the comfortable pillows of her breasts and looked at her. She gave him the smallest smile, and it was the first time he’d seen any expression on her face other than sullen seriousness. “Humans only have one heart.” “One heart?” he repeated. “One heart.” Well. He felt silly. And then he realized he was pressed against every inch of her. His tail had somehow looped around her ankles, holding her legs together while he was still on top of her. While he did that, her hips were pressed into his belly. His arms were on either side of her body and he’d had his head nestled between her breasts. He was screaming the word “friends” in his mind and somehow, that wasn’t helping. He was still here. Still leaning against her. Still staring down at her as he realized just how close he was to her. “You have small flecks of gold in your eyes,” he mumbled. The gills on the sides of his neck stood up, fluttering slowly for her.

It wasn’t much of a display. But he’d never been one for big displays of affection. He’d tried before, he’d just never been able to do it. And yet right now, with this little achromo, he wanted to make those gills shake so hard she’d feel the wind of them on her face. “Do I?” she asked, her tone amused and her gaze never moving from his. “Yours are entirely black.” “I know.” “I thought there would be some color in them.” What was he supposed to say to that? He already felt like an idiot talking about her eyes. But then he leaned forward and he could smell her. The soft scent of her, like the warmth of the sun after a storm. Electric and heated. “You smell so good,” he muttered, his eyes drifting shut as he told himself not to put his head back down. “I’m sorry I touched your breasts.” She made a choked sound, and when he looked back at her, she was bright red. Even the tips of her ears seemed to burn with some emotion he couldn’t name. But he was quite certain it was his favorite color on her. “Get up.” She struggled underneath him, and he released her. “The cabinet I just pulled out should have a directory in it, and then I can get to the office and find that damned key.” “I said I was sorry.” “I heard you,” she muttered, those ears somehow turning even deeper red. “Just... Help me find the key.

And then he just stared at her. Kept looking. No matter how long she stayed quiet, and that was unusual for him. Usually he was the first one to start talking when she... There it was. “You’re afraid of me now,” he said, that deep voice rumbling through the room and raising every hair on her body. She rubbed her arms to get rid of the feeling. “No, I’m not.” “You watched when I told you not to.” “I did.” Ace needed her hands to be busy. She wandered through the room, gathering up the supplies she needed. Needle, thread, antiseptic, a bandage that she realized would fall off the moment he got into the water, but it would make her feel better for now. He watched her every movement, clearly frustrated with this turn of events. “I told you not to.” “You already said that.” “Why are you feeling so uncomfortable with me now, then? I told you not to look. You were the one who decided to do so.” His stare nearly burned a hole between her shoulder blades. “You knew what I was.” “I did.” She kept her back to him for a second, taking in a deep, steadying breath. Then she turned around and marched toward him with determination. “I don’t know why I’m feeling this way. I think it was easier when I knew what you were, but I could only send you words through a droid. You weren’t right in front of me, reminding me of what you were every second of the day.

The fins around his face flared wide, and even that made her uncomfortable. Just the slightest show of surprise and she was so close to bolting it made her ashamed of herself. With an angry exhale, she stacked everything next to him and tried her best to get control over the feelings. “It’s hard to remember that I know who you are when you’re so... so...” He reached up between them and grabbed one of her flailing hands. “What about me scares you?” She swallowed. “Maketes, I don’t want to⁠—” “Tell me exactly. Tell me what pieces of me scare you so that I can ease your fears.” She shouldn’t be doing this. This was stupid, anyway. There were so many parts of him that scared her. It would take them hours for her to list them all and they were on a timeline. She barely had time to stitch him closed, which was the other thing they should both be focused on right now. Instead, she found her lips moving. “Your claws.” “My claws?” He lifted their hands up so she had to look at them, seeing her fingers coiled together with his. “These would never cause pain. They were made to protect, not to harm.” “But they ripped through that man’s stomach so easily.” “I don’t want you to think of that, kefi. I want you to know that they are gentle with you and that if you need someone to save you, that they are the first weapon you should look for.

Slowly, ever so slowly, he released her hand and lifted his. She could see it coming toward her face, and she let out a slow, stuttering breath so she remained in place. The smooth back of his claw touched the highest peak of her cheekbone. Feather light, she almost couldn’t feel it as he swept it along the curve of her cheek and down to the edge of her jaw. Gentle, always gentle. He wasn’t even touching her at some points, but she swore he was. Ace’s eyes fluttered shut. Something was happening inside of her that she couldn’t explain. Just that single touch eased the fear so quickly, when it shouldn’t have. He was still the problem. He had murdered so many people in front of her. She should only see their dead bodies when her eyes were closed like this. Instead, what she saw were all the pieces of him that she wished she could ignore. “Your gills,” she whispered. “They’re very different from what I expected.” “How so?” “They’re larger than I thought they would be.” The faintest hint of a laugh made her imagine him smiling. Behind her closed eyes, everything was so much safer. She could imagine the grin on his face and ignore the thought that there were gills there. Instead, all she saw was the way his face wrinkled with happiness. How his eyes crinkled at the corners and deep smile lines on his cheeks were revealed.

Then his hand cupped hers, drawing her fingers to his neck. The softest velvet bumped against her fingers, gently fluttered the moment she touched them. “My gills?” he repeated, his voice deeper than before. She took a deep breath, squeezed her eyes shut a little harder, and explored. Just like with the shark, he gave her an opportunity to face something that made her feel uncomfortable, and she was going to take that opportunity. From afar, his gills looked like they were similar to a lionfish. All spines and spikes and likely full of poisonous liquid that would make her writhe in agony. But they weren’t like that at all. They were soft. They slid through her fingers and seemed to touch her back with the slightest of movements. She could feel him exhaling. The warm air that escaped through his gills was so much warmer than the air of the surgical room. “This doesn’t hurt you?” she asked. “If you yanked on them, yes, it would hurt.” His tone was twisted, like he was holding himself back from something. “But it feels nice when you touch them.” “Oh.” Did she want it to feel nice?

Your teeth,” she blurted. There was a reason she was touching him, and it was so she wasn’t afraid of him anymore. So she wouldn’t be scared to lean on him, to use him to keep her safe. “Open your eyes, kefi. If you are afraid of my teeth, then you need to look at them.” She didn’t want to open her eyes. Ace wanted to stay in this world where nothing existed but darkness and touch. But then he leaned closer, hesitating where the heat of his breath brushed against the junction of her shoulder and neck. She heard the ragged breath he sucked in before his lips were suddenly pressed to the soft skin there. She could feel the imprint of his teeth through his lips. The sharp edges of them were dulled by warm heat that spread throughout her body like a wildfire. Then those lips parted. She could feel the sharp tips of his teeth pressing against her flesh before he leaned back once more. Just the barest hint of them, and she was ashamed to admit she wanted more. So she opened her eyes, blinking in the glaring white overhead lights before meeting his dark gaze. He parted his lips, baring those teeth for her eyes. Maketes even let her look her fill before he spoke. “I am made like a weapon. But many of my kind are more terrifying than me. I promise you, with every part of who I am and every part of who I will be, I would never hurt you. You have made every part of me shine with light, sweet achromo. You are brave and wild and free, and I would be a fool to try and dampen that light.” The same hand that held her fingers to his gills took her touch to his lips. Then he released her, never pushing her to do anything she didn’t want to do. Because of that, Ace found she wanted to touch. She gently ran her finger along his plush lower lip, tracing the outline of the cushion of it. She could see where he had been biting the soft flesh, as though he was as nervous about her touching him as she had been. Again, those lips parted. He even opened his mouth slightly so she could run that same finger over the sharp points of his teeth. They weren’t as razor sharp as she’d thought. Perhaps there would have to be more force to a bite to tear flesh like he had with the others. It should have frightened her. Instead, a heat bloomed deep in her body. A heat she almost didn’t recognize because it had been so long since she’d felt it.