well someday soon when the spring brings the sun
i'll sleep, i'll finally
feel better when the winter's gone

The sea changes for no one, but when the water has warmed and the marine was more abundant, she could almost feel that it changed for those living within it. Not her, not Hobgoblin, not anyone on land, but those glued into it because their life depended on it. Waves and tides had threatened to swallow her whole and never spit her out, and while the thought is nearly calming, she can’t bring it happen. Hobgoblin’s body slips effortlessly through the currents with the occasional complaint about the warmth of the body, showing her images of whales that dwarfed his streamlined body and left them both with the feeling of being forever small.
It’s possibly comforting, but at the same time, frightening. His black eyes let her see them one more time before their massive bodies choose to swing downwards, pale blues staring out into a long palette of blue fading into the gray swells of cloud at a point she’ll never make it to. Two flippers break the silence only to welcome it back in.
Emptiness sets back in.
Sand sinks under her weight when she makes the gradual move towards the sea, watching tiredly as the foam riding the waves kisses her gray, cracked hooves and then pulls away with the fear and grace of a gentle, innocent lover who is beginning to learn the ropes of a new thing. Minutes pass before it births Hobgoblin entirely. Long wisps hang from his body and she finds no pang of terror when his body is something that is commonly unsettling, moving in lengthy, graceful steps that look as if they swallow the world when his hooves never touch the body.
Behind, she is ungraceful, swaying without a set rhythm as the beach sucks at her body and tries to draw her further in, ears caught up in the soft song of the ocean, almost slipping out of realit-
“Shiny thing.”
He’ll always be the one thing that pulls her and keeps her there, that place where she feels forced to bare her burdens and face them head on, as if he chooses to encourage her to be strong through abuse. Lazily, her skull rises from the dipped state that she had previously let it limply hang at, studying the faint glimmer of an object ahead. Hobgoblin is already bounding, leaping with curiosity that she doesn’t match, leaving her behind, forgetting that they’re a part of one another.
No emotion really rings from him when he stops his movement. It is not to say that he is completely void of it, but the usual things are blooming. Curiosity, the drive to inflict something that she isn’t sure what is yet, there’s more but listing them is useless. The bay form constructs with the glittering attached, and for a moment she finds herself mesmerized. It takes her some time before she notices who it is and the low shake of their body, watching as if she is a passerby that just wants to stare at how nice his coat is and the growth slowly covering him, like someone who doesn’t care when she is forced to by personal oath and the practice of her work.
It would be rude now to leave. It’d put a nasty feeling in her gut for days and work it’s way into a festering mess of emotions that she would try to push away only to be crushed by it later on.
Her throat clears. “Are you okay?”
An indefinite amount of time passes before she feels that maybe this isn’t her issue, or possibly it’s the rising discomfort from Hobgoblin. Tears had an unique talent of making him uncomfortable, and regardless of how well his forms hid it, the lingering in the back of her skull is trying to work it’s way into her.

OOC: casually replies c':
Hobgoblin is in his wendigo form

"Talk."