As fish always return upstream to their freshwater homes, the rainchild returned to the sea.

She stood serenely on the ocean's shoulder with her eyes shut and a hoof cocked, a marine breeze rustling her whiskers playfully. Was this the definition of bliss, of pure happiness? The sky was blue and every possibility seemed endless and every cause a good one—today she could conquer empires or save a life or deduce the meaning of life, but every bone in her body told her to stay; to relax, and she did with great gusto. Shyly, her thoughts wandered to the Reaper and that first rainy morning she had spent with him, to the curve of his nape and the depth of his sapphire eyes. Was it hours or days or weeks before the significance of that encounter would occur to her? She did not know, but with the fine sand underhoof and the pleasant warmth of an impending tallsun sprawling across her back, she did not want to think. This was no time to ponder or worry, but a time to rejoice, to celebrate this new light; a time for unquestionable happiness, for new beginnings.

She did not feel lonely here, by the sea. It would keep her secrets, her desires, her worries safe within the push and pull of waves. The briny waves were a fine audience, ever patient and understanding, only the talkative gulls to prey upon her longings. Huyana felt giddy, elated, as light as a sea bird—for once she wore her heart on her sleeve like the girl she was, denying the woman she would soon become. Memories of past sorrow and melancholy and dark days seemed ridiculous in contrast with this dazzlingly brilliant birdsong day, the swarthy memories and moonlit journeys a silly comparison to sky blues and dark sea greens. Eyes open, beholding all the majesty of creation before her, endless and abiding, sparkling and mysterious. She laughed like summer rain, and it felt wonderful to be so carefree, so wanton. Cleft hooves flounced forward into the brine, seafoam clinging to her limbs as the sterling roan plunged into its depths. Huyana tasted salt and grit on her tongue, lovely and pungent. She bounded forward, cool water wetting the bottom of her belly, spraying her chest, the underside of her neck. Huyana the water nymph, the siren, the nereid—she seemed half a goddess herself, cavorting in the waves and playing with the gulls. Was this what paradise was?


blah blah blah