For: @rcptide
Willow, breathless from her last dance, pressed a hand to her chest as she stepped away from the throng of townies. The cool wind off of the water called her nearer and she kicked her sandals off at the edge to sink her toes into the gentle surf. In the distance she could see the electric lantern left on the mooring post at the Isles of Pie twinkle.Â
Then she felt a bump against her foot. Expecting a fish, Will hopped a step back only to find a mango. And a number of bananas, not to mention the jollily bobbing coconut. A veritable fruit salad was slowly but surely washing up to shore, undoubtedly from the islands themselves. Mango in hand, she looked around to find anyone else witnessing the odd gift. âIt looks like they wanted to participate in the potluck, too,â she said. âDâyou think we should add them to the table?â
There's a clear sense of longing that plagues him. Whenever he finds himself on the beach, too close to home, something pangs painfully just beneath the ribs. Where there's usually a feral grin now twists into a uncharacteristically pensive frown. The white crested waves have always been his North Star. Without it he feels lost â sick, almost.
But the ache's temporarily assuaged with an interruption. Fruit by fruit, the shore's slowly decorated with a harvest's bounty. Squinting, Oliver inches close enough to pluck a cluster of ripe bananas from the sand. "Feel like it'd be a disservice not to, right? Also feels like the Wiggles would be strongly disappointed if there isn't a little bit of fruit salad in the mix."
