like i always sometimes say

Davrin studies the hem of a long white skirt as it flutters around a familiar pair of ankles. It doesn't stop as she does, swaying instead with the wind that rolls in off the coast. It pools around her feet like a cloud as she kneels to take the hand of a little elven girl, not the first on to stop her on what was intended to be a relatively short journey.

Ventus is not as Davrin had thought it would be.

The city is built into the side of wave-worn cliffs, buildings painted in the colors of the coast itself, faded by the warmth of the sun and the endless sea breeze. The relentless beat of the sun is interrupted only by the feathered shadow passing over head, often to the delighted symphony of cries from children who've all decided to chase it though the winding streets. There are still scars here, cut into cobblestones and in parts of the city wall that are lined with scaffolding.

It's more than the weather that makes this place seem brighter.

Cyri stepped through the Eluvian and immediately seemed to take in the sea air as though it was some kind of tincture. Her face is turned slightly toward the sun, basking as though its a rarity—though in Minrathous, he supposes it is.

As she leads him through the streets as though she's walked them many times before, Davrin can't help studying this new version of her. He's gotten to know many of them, over the past several months.

Cyri has good days and bad, often in large swings of a pendulum. There are days she reminds him of the extremely charming, slightly-reckless woman he'd met in the Anderfels. Other times she seems more like a stranger. Edged and quiet. Most times she's someone in between, these days more of a banked flame than a raging fire.

The evanuris, the blight, the veil—all of it changed the world more thoroughly than any of them could have imagined. It only makes sense that it changed them, too. It took some time, but after a few more painful clashes, the two of them took to discussing scars that have cut deeper than skin. The ones that have come from fear and grief and loneliness.

He thinks that it helps, but sometimes he'll catch her drifting off to places he can't follow. Times he catches himself forgetting that his choices effect more than just himself.

They cross beneath a sandstone arch, passing through the city walls. The docks spear into the water off to the east. Even this far out, the shouting and the bells that accompany a bustling harbor. Cyri leads him in the opposite direction, pulling him by the hand down a well-beaten path, steep stairs carved from the dark cliffs themselves. Eventually, the rock gives way to sand, the trail opening into a sand-covered cove.

This beach is different than the white sands of Rivain, the bright turquoise waters. The water is a deeper blue, the waves that roll in edged in an impossibly frothy white that washes over gray sands dotted with other bodies. Its early enough in the spring that Davrin doubts many of them are yet willing to brave the wind-chilled waves of the Nocen sea, though the day itself is pleasant enough that the mild crowd is unsurprising.

Cyri pauses, stooping to remove her shoes. Davrin follows suit and straightens to a gentle blast of salt air rolling in off the water. It winds through his shirt and over his skin like lovers' hands. Next to him, Cyri's lips spread into a small, serene little smile as the wind dances through her skirts, twisting through her hair. His heart aches a little, at that expression. This is a Cyri he met at a hidden waterfall in Arlathan, damp hair and flushed cheeks, sunset turning the sky indigo and orange above the trees. One he doesn't see often enough, come to think of it.

A loud screech from overhead announces Assan's landing before he makes it, kicking up sand on purpose, Davrin is certain. Especially when he immediately flops on his side and starts stirring up even more of it with an almost obnoxious zeal.

Davrin sighs, shielding his own eyes against both sand and sun.

"Assan," he scolds after a moment, "That's enough."

The griffon has grown larger too, over the past year. Not large enough yet to ride, but on all four legs he comes almost to Davrin's hip. This has not been reflected in his discipline, a fact which Davrin never hesitates to grouse over.

He scowls, just formulating a new complaint, but she speaks first.

"We used to come here a lot, when I was younger." Her smile puts off as much warmth as the later-afternoon sun. Davrin can't help the arch in his brow. "Surprising?"

"Considering you couldn't swim when we met, yes."

"I never got in the water," she says, as though this should be obvious.

Davrin hums his amusement, "Would that be because—?"

"When I was eight, Priscilla Claude told me about the sea monster that lurked in the harbor. It'd been brought here to defend Ventus from Qunari invasions. But when they were over, the defenders no longer had anyone to feed to it. They couldn't keep it tamed any longer, so it went rogue. Started roaming these waters in this cove looking for children to feed on."

"Another child convinced you a sea monster lurked these waters who could swallow you whole."

She nods with a certainty that suggests this sequence of events makes perfect sense.

Davrin shakes his head, fighting a smile as he studies the waves rolling in, one on top of the other. "That's ridiculous."

Cyri scowls with fierce indignation. "You're a monster hunter and you're telling me that sea monsters don't exist."

"No," he counters, daring to smile in her direction. "I'm telling you that a sea monster couldn't possibly live so close to land. Where exactly in these shallow waters do you think any kind of sea monster—incredibly vague description—could sneak up on you?"

Her tongue probes somewhere between her teeth and her upper lip as she thinks this over. From experience, Davrin know she won't be so easily convinced.

"What if it has tentacles?"

Davrin gives the expected beleaguered sigh. "Sea monsters cannot live in waters this shallow—and even if they could," he goes on before she can interrupt properly. "there is no sea monster, tentacled or otherwise, that would be capable of sneaking up on you here."

Her scowl deepens, turning dubious in a new way.

"You're just saying that so I'll get in."

He arches one eyebrow, scanning over her once. Davrin shrugs, "Seemed like you were already planning that."

Her eyes narrow as she parses his intent—and then she's on her feet, taking off over shifting sand and darting between jutting rocks.

Davrin calls her name as he takes off after her, laughing as he chases her across the beach. He propels himself after her, heedless of the sand he kicks up in his wake. His thighs burn with the effort of keeping upright on the mutable surface. Still, he won't let that stop him.

In the end, he only catches her because she stumbles first.

She lets out a cry of protest that sounds a great deal like one of Assan's as he snatches her about the waist—but several moments later they're both laughing as he hefts her a little clumsily over his shoulder, both of their bodies covered in sand and heaving with breath.

"Davrin!" she complains loudly through her panting.

A few other patrons of this beach throw strange looks their way, and Davrin ignores them, marching purposefully toward the waves with his haul—who is admittedly not protesting as much as he thought she would. It's possible the escape attempt had taken it out of her. Either way, she seems surprisingly resigned to her fate as he steps into the tide.

It's freezing, but Davrin does his level best not to let it show.

Instead, he forges on until he's about waist deep, keeping Cyri safely above the waves. Well, until he isn't anymore.