SHARDS of GEMSTONES

YOUR CULTURE

Foamy. Foamy.
It is foamy. The white haze over his eyes. Loch takes his tongue to them, the muscle sliding the film off like a hot bowl of whale milk. The buck slowly sat up within the confines of his resting area, and as another bellchime passed, he only saw the blinding lights of bioluminescent flora hanging above him. Again and again he is stuck, healing. Watching that young maid wander back in to feed him meals, this time they were small and without poison.

The chill brought a sneeze to the tip of his nose, and Loch curled his slippery tail to his stomach. What more could he do but slouch? Healing from a stomach pump takes time, especially when your nurse's are using Whali finwork. A small grunt of pain erupted as he moved to the right, jolting up to see a shadow that brightened into nothingness as the door of the nurse's den made a 'fwoop' sound.

Loch, lips curling as he immediately lashed out, "Just let me out already." He barked with purpose, licking his grime filled gums.

"I can't do that unless you meet with the king." The pitch was low, and the sounds bellowed from his diaphragm.

This, this Flabby Whalefish shook his scales and looked directly at Loch, and moved to meet the siren's eyes whenever he redirected them. He wanted his attention, each inching form of it. And Loch felt the heat of his target. He, the hero of his story, puts out an end that satisfies his hunger. One bellchime. But this bell, he refuses to fight back. Fear? No. Deceit? Possibly...

"At least get me out of these things. That cluster finned maid has me locked down-"

"Pearleye has a keen eye. She is deserving of the meat laying at her flippers. You deserve death." The muscled buck was clothed like the guards. He was of the patrol too?

His medallions shimmered in the light, and they bounced with each tug he gave the workings on Loch's restraints. Clink clank, the small fragments of charms went on his beaten shawl. The ropes collapsed in his lips, and the whalefish leaned back to assert his large frame. Of course they sent him.

Loch eyes crossed around the buck's body, noticing how large he was. His tail was long, which meant that he probably had a fine mate. He was polished outside of his clothing, maybe he was owner of a few extra kla'eis on the side. If Rockfin had spilled every part of the culture, Loch would have fit in better. One lesson that remains the same is that of a battle. The eel sinks into his skin and sits at the guard's hip, face pushed into his thigh as they walked. Out of the twisting halls of the cavern, the two emerged with a clear shine to their scales. Loch looked more like a prisoner than a valued swimmer, and it was apparent that he would stay such a way if he did not put effort into his crowning. He is to be a king, as his surrounding maters told him as an egg, blessing his skin with bubbles. A tune that was sung so sweet, until he become of nothingness in the fallen ruins of his shoal. Lost, and forgotten as his body drifted away.

The pillars of the old fins blessed his eyes as they trotted along, winter biting his skin as a layer of frost combed through. Along the trails of the rocky plains, Jorm'eyi and Loch turned to face an approaching siren. Their eyes were calm, but their scales flared with each push of the ocean air. They dressed in simple orange clothes, and had a plump body for birthing, a mater indeed. When Jorm'eyi dipped his head towards the mater, she did the same, and they licked at each other's noses.

"Clawwhisker," Jorm spoke with bass.

"Sir'eyi," Clawwhisker lifted her flipper off the ground and huffed out a bubbled hiss, "Tell my mate, when you see him, that he should refrain from the library until he has spent time with his family."

Jorm snorted a laugh, keeping it within himself as he looked her in the eyes. The buck made a nod, and saw that the mater trekked well to her destination. With Loch still on his hip, the guard made way further into the busy paths of the shoal. Left and right, many swimmers dashed from their locations to meet each other. The long and ghastly winter was holding them by their fins, but the shoal knew that the spring's reign would not halt for the next season, one that was approaching rather quickly. Winter this, winter that, it had seemed all like nothing mattered. They spoke of it as if it was a myth, just a phase, and not nature. Not real. Perhaps, there is belief that winter was created.