#larsun

Larsun watched the tides roll in, finding her peace.

She needed to come out here every few days. Far from the bejeweled beaches of Blonicku, northern enough that she could be certain she was alone. The only sound she heard was the breaking of the waves and the occasional seagull crying into the wind.

She stretched out over the sand, fully covered to prevent the sand clinging to her fur, and stared again into the sky.

He wasn't visible, right now. Probably too close to the moon.

She sighed and reached for her water, wondering how long she'd be out here. Usually she stayed for a few hours at most, but sometimes she was gone all night.

Sipping her glass, she questioned, as she always did, why it was the Nuthri didn't make the ocean drinkable. She asked them that once, and they said it was because most of the fish they made needed salt water, but they never explained why they couldn't have just made those fish a different way. Then they wouldn't have to "desalinate" the water for the entire city.

A new concept, that, and a marital collaboration; Dowan had discovered the process, but Nyra created the word.

Her grandson was marvelous, and the main reason the people of Blonicku weren't relying on water users like her to satiate them.

But when he smiled, it was with Mekrun's smile, and when he laughed she couldn't help but hear her husband in it. Thankfully, he inherited Berloin's dark hair, and he was different enough in face that she was only reminded of her loss when he smiled.

But with or without that sharp reminder, she would still visit out here. A chance to be alone, and, if she was lucky, talk to her lost husband.

He didn't always wake up when she came out here. Sometimes his star remained the second brightest star, and she knew he could hear nothing. She still talked, even then, but to herself, only about less important things. To fill the air with her voice so the waves weren't all she heard. Last time, she'd talked to his dim star about her new favorite dish to be created in Blonicku, and about how she loved the new high heels she'd been gifted. This time, if he didn't wake, she would probably rant about the strange hem on Nrolin's new dress-

She should not have thought of Nrolin. She must have had the Nuthriser right now, which was rare as Vlorindul usually possessed it.

She felt her breath quicken and her pulse rise involuntarily, as she jumped to her feet without a conscious action, as her oath pulled her.

She damned her anger in her thoughts, cursing herself for being so foolish a century ago. Swearing to reclaim those stones, by any means, as if that would only mean reclaiming them from that rat bastard Kuthribruth, as if she had said in the oath that it only applied to him. But she'd sworn only to reclaim them, not to reclaim them from Kuthribruth.

She'd spread her wings. She didn't remember doing that. She couldn't retract them. Her body crouched down to jump, while she tried to fall down. Just before she leapt, a presence settled around her.

She fell flat on the ground, wings retracted. Looking up, her husband's star was brighter than the Nerquam, brighter than the moon. She felt his eyes on her.

She couldn't even say anything. He watched her cry, tears wetting the warm sand, unable to reach her with more than just the feel of his eyes on her.

She'd no idea what he thought of her, now. For all she new he was angry for her oath, or maybe he was only mournful of what it caused. She didn't know. He couldn't tell her.

She rolled onto her side and curled her legs up high to her chest, uncaring if the sand caught her fur. She cried into her arms on top of her knees, sobbing loudly enough she irrationally feared someone would hear her.

She cried for her family, missing one member. She cried for her oath, that it pulled her to steal from her family. She cried again for all that was lost in the Fall, that her grandson had no wings.

Surprisingly, she felt his presence all through. Usually, he fell to sleep again after only a few moments, but it took longer than half an hour for her to calm herself, and still his star brightened the sky.

When she sat back up, the spot in the sand where her tears had flown was entirely wet, and would remain so in this cold night. As expected, her fur was filled with sand that would take hours to comb out. Her hips ached in memory of staying in that position for so long- a reminder of what happened to her sun- and as she looked up to the sky, she saw her husband looking back down.

"Do you blame me?" She whispered to the star.

He made no response.

They'd tried everything. She'd asked him to stop watching her for a second so she would stop feeling his presence, to see if they could communicate by some sort of code. It didn't work, he couldn't stop watching her. She'd asked if he would send out as strong a telepathic thought as he could, but she couldn't hear it. Not even when she took to the air and hovered next to his formless soul could she hear his thought.

He was barred completely from her.

As expected, he didn't respond this time, either. She expanded the question, "For the oath. I always wonder if you will. If you regret the oath more than I do."

He made no response.

"It could make me fight. It could make me hurt them. I might…" The thought was unthinkable, and she dared not speak it.

He made no response.

She felt his presence fade, some. He was falling into sleep again. She said her usual goodbye, with a soft voice and choked throat.

"If I don't get to speak to you again… I love you. I want you to know that."

She added one final parting before he fell completely.