You see him-
-and he's a black spot in a sea of sand, a familiar body with two smaller ones beside it, one of which you know and one you don't but both mirrors of Mesec in different ways. Through the distance and the haze of excitement he is somewhat indistinct, a fuzzy point of friendship and something else, something more, something you don't focus on now because you're busy and there are things to do and people to talk to and plans to make.
But when the plans are done and the people leave you find yourself looking, sunbeam eyes scanning at the coastline for that point of black, a needling need prickling at your neck. You peer into the sunlight, through the dispersing strangers, afraid that you lost him, that he took the mini-Mesecs and left. There are so many questions you want to ask him, so many strange empty points of uncertainty you somehow believe he has the capacity to fill. So you set off down the beach, your one wing pulled close against your body, searching until finally you see him-
-and he's a tangle of uncertainty in an equine body, a pair of pliers that pulls at your brain, searching for things you've hidden far from yourself. You falter, then, suddenly dreading this reunion, suddenly leaden in your bones. Why? What do you have to be afraid of? This is Mesec after all, one of your oldest friends, who taught you about mortality and played with you on a beach much like this. You steel yourself - it's just the weather, just the crowd, just the strangeness of Kisamoa - and step toward the tribrid, a not-quite-vibrant half-grin spreading across your lips.
He's looking for you, that's obvious now, though you don't quite meet his silver eyes, don't quite focus on the curves of his body. You look at the sand near his hooves, his shoulders, the children who linger within sight but out of earshot (when did he have children?), at Lucius, whose sharp beak and talons set off warning bells in your mind, warning bells you disregard because this is Mesec, this is your friend, and you're being stupid, stupid, stupid. At last you half-laugh and raise your head, his name rising jovially to your lips as you meet his silver gaze, "Mes-!"
The words die on your lips. You see him-
-and you remember.
Like a kick in the teeth it all comes back: silver eyes and a broken jaw, leering laughter and falling blood. The world goes dark at the edge of your gaze; you're back in the forest, lying on your back, and you can feel the pain in the scars on your legs and flank, smell the heat of his breath, you hear the snarl of your name from those lips, and you see him, the friend you know wrapped in the skin of a monster, sharp claws and casual loathing replacing the love you had come to expect. Your eyes widen, and the blood leaves your face, and you stagger backwards a step, two, deaf to everything but the pounding of your heart in your ears.
You're gasping, but the air doesn't make it further than your throat, and you can feel your organs scream for oxygen. That pain brings you back and you find yourself blinking, tears you didn't know you'd shed (how often have you cried, this year?) biting angrily against your eyes. There is light in the world again; you can hear waves, and voices, and smell the salt of the ocean, but all you see is him. You are a bundle of nerves and muscle and fear, a child in the face of his demons, a trusting soul suddenly confronted with the betrayal you'd denied this whole time, and he is your nightmares, the truth you couldn't face, your oldest friend.
"It... it was you. It was you. Mesec- why?"
Your voice shakes. Hell, your whole body shakes. You're a crumbling sandcastle, a house of cards- you understand nothing, and one wrong move could lead to your collapse. The places where he struck you still throb, but they are nothing beside hurt in your heart, the way it's shattering inside your chest, a stone eroded by one wave too many, no longer sure it can keep its keeper from falling into the sea.
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