|I am the Sea
Author: RedAugust102 PM
"Running through my veins. Coursing through my brain. Steaming off my muscles. Swirling through my breath. My heart beats with it. My mind thinks with it. I run with it. I am it. I am the sea." A few one-shots from the point of view of Corr that follow the story of the Scorpio Races.Rated: Fiction T - English - Adventure/Friendship - & Sean K. - Chapters: 2 - Words: 2,473 - Reviews: 3 - Favs: 1 - Follows: 3 - Updated: 01-29-13 - Published: 01-22-13 - id: 8936154
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
This is my first fanfiction ever, so please, I am open to constructive criticism.
This story is from the point of view of Corr, Sean's water horse. It is a series of one-shots from different parts of The Scorpio Races.
I would love it if you left a review, but I have decided not to be one of those annoying authors that only publish with a certain amount of reviews etc.
Also, I don't own anything, the characters and stuff belong to Maggie Stiefvater. :) Enjoy!
Running through my veins. Coursing through my brain. Steaming off my muscles. Swirling through my breath. My heart beats with it. My mind thinks with it. I run with it. I am it.
The sea. The sea, the sea, the sea.
I am the sea.
The water weighs me down into the sand, but I still gallop through it, because I am of it. I am of the sea.
I run through the swirling sea, under a sky like the breath of a thunder god. Rain falls to meet the tumbling waves, joining the great, undefeatable, infinite, impossible ocean. The water gets steadily shallower as I move towards the cliffs, where I smell the alluring, although distant, scent of flesh. Finally, I leap out of the water, although it cries out a crash of longing as I leave it behind. Maybe, I would turn slowly, gaze at the powerful waves and rejoin them. Race them over the seabed, and win. But not today. Today I am hungry. Today I will feed.
The sand, weighed down with water, stretches far from the water to the cliffs, the cliffs that herald above the beach, an impressive but feeble attempt of nature to protect the land from the sea. My hooves sink into the cold, cold sand, pools of water forming around my ankles, caressing my skin and calling me back. I gaze back into the ocean, its call humming through my being. This is always the hardest part, leaving the sea. But I am hungry.
I let the tide pull at my hooves just a second longer, then erupt out of the sand to sprint across the beach, revelling in the wind whistling through my mane, the rain flowing down my flanks, and the amazing, unmatchable feeling that comes with running with all your speed, when nothing matters. Not even the sea.
I gallop up to the black rocks that fold over into a small cove, then turn back and zigzag from the cliffs to the water, leaping and pounding and running, running, running.
Then, I stop. My hooves kick up sand as I skid, scanning my surroundings for the source of that smell. That delicious, meaty smell of human flesh. The rain still stings my eyes, and the sea still roars and roars. But I will feed, today. I will feed.
I peer through the wet dark, watching for the distinct shape of a human.
I see it.
Far, far along the beach, in a gash in the cliffs, stands a man.
He is staring at me.
A growl rumbles through my chest, slow and controlled. I begin to trot forward. He still stands, and stares. I quicken my pace, this man unnerves me. He isn't backing down. He should be running, screaming, crying, curling into a ball and sobbing to some non-existent god. Or, yelling to other men, calling for them to capture me, drape me in bells and ropes and drag me to their stables. Those ones are always harder to kill, but more satisfactory, in a way. Yet this man, he stands there. Simply staring at me with eyes that tell me nothing. Rain still pours down my back, and the sea hisses beside me, calling. I ignore it; I have something else to deal with.
I screech into the sky and gallop to the figure. I am hungry.
The man still stands. Yet I am so close. I bare my teeth and rear, ready to strike down and cover the last few metres. He still stands. I regain the ground, and hesitate. Not for long, just a millisecond. A flash in my eyes. A sharp breath. Hardly anything at all. But the man sees.
He sees everything.
Slowly, he lifts an arm and shows me his hand, outstretched. And stares straight into my eyes. I stop. I freeze in the cold sand. The sea stops singing its siren song, or I stop hearing it. I stare back. And step forward. I hear nothing, see nothing, nothing but this man. I don't know why I am stepping towards him so calmly, I don't know what I will do once I reach him. In this step, a million jumbled thoughts rush through my mind like a crashing wave. He might catch me, he might dress me up in those stupid jingles and charms, he might chain me up far from the sea in a tiny stall with no room to run. I think I would die. The sea, the mighty thing that made me, cares for me, is me, and will ultimately end me, would be taken away from me. Running, that simple thing that turns my blood to fire, sharpens all my senses, frees my mind from the sea, and makes me feel so, so alive, will no longer be known to me. I would die.
Quicker than lightning, he pulls a rope from around his neck and throws it around my neck. I read up and kick at the air, screeching. He has me. I let my guard down and now he has me. I snap at the man ferociously, maybe I can at least take a chunk out of him. He slips away like rain and pulls something out of his pocket. My blood goes cold as he runs it across my flank. I shiver. I pull unrelentingly at the rope as the man leads me up the cliffs. He remains strong and unfazed, even after I manage to bruise his side with a hoof.
He has me.
The seas croons from down below in the black, and although I strain to return to it, I cannot. This man and his iron and his rope has me trapped. The sea will be gone from me, I will run no more.
I will die.
I put all that is in me to escape the tight hold of this human. Simple touches of my flank with the iron and knots in my mane lessen but do not extinguish the raging fire in my mind.
I don't know how long my death walk takes, my mind rages and my body fights and my voice screeches, so I lose all sense of time and solidity. A broken toe, bruised rib and bitten hand are just a few of the injuries that I deal the man when he attempts to force me in a stable. I vaguely hear others of my kind screaming back to me, echoing my now desperate pleas. After a long, long battle, the man manages to force me into a pen. I scream louder than ever, for I hear the sea crooning back to me through a small window, calling for my soul. But I cannot go to it.
I spin around my prison, which is bigger than I expected. I kick at the walls and wail, sending all of my anger, despair and longing into the air as a long, raw screech of my soul. I am trapped.
I scream, and scream, and scream, glaring mercilessly at the man when he stops at the entrance to my pen. He simply gazes into my eyes, and I see something there that surprises me. I see myself, mirrored in him. He longs for the same thing I do, freedom. He wants to be free, just as I do. And I see something else in his eyes, a kind of love. Not for me, but for what I am. He loves the sea.
I think that I stop screaming and kicking. I think that I stand there and stare into the man's eyes. I am not sure. But I also think that we stand there, locked together by some deeper connection, for a long time. I think that he talks to me, with human words that have no meaning, and with tones that are full of it.
He disappears with the rising sun, leaving me to gaze out the window at the ocean.
The sea is gone to me now, lost. And I am lost to the sea.
I have no hope of running again freely, enjoying the weightless, pure ecstasy of pounding across the land.
I am trapped.
I wish to be free.
I am dead.
So, there you go! I would love it if you reviewed, but its okay if you don't. I promise i won't be offended :)
Constructive criticism is warmly welcomed!