It was to much to ask for these beautiful lands to be vacant; it wasn't long before someone breasted a nearby dune. The appearance of this stranger in this bright world isn't enough (at first) to catch my notice -- I figure once the rogue saw this section of shore occupied, he or she would move on. The stranger is balanced upon a sandy mound; and instead of turning back, he begins sliding, weaving down to the beachside. A irritable groan slides up my throat and into the breezy air, gems swivel to gaze at the travel worn stranger with anno-...intrigue. That dude was no dude at all, it certainly was a she; no man could wear such breathless curves. Those distant eyes rise to mine and the girl comes to a solid halt.

Run, run as fast as you can.

Apparently my appearance isn't horrific enough to deter, because she didn't turn that gilden weapon left or right -- her smothering limbs press forward, coming toward me into the foamy surf. Anticipation skips this heart like a pebble bouncing along the bumpy surface of the river; those worn eyes avert, a part of me tries to do the polite thing and also stray -- however, mine remain glued. She didn't stop coming and I couldn't stop staring. Her silken hide, slick with with sweat and dust; the sun caught every plush angle. Perfection wrapped up in a tight package. Everything about this woman radiated sunlight, a large portion of her wings, legs and face are molten -- crafted exquisitely. Shimmering gold.

The tiniest smirk drifts across these dull grey lips -- my creamy crown slides down, arching the youthful span of my neck. Nostrils flare, scenting deeply the air in an effort to pluck her essence from the tart salt. Musical vocals reach these ears, her soft and simple greeting is more than enough encouragement to lure this adolescent heart into action. I push against the dragging tide, the salty waves lap against my bare chest and dampen the tangled threads which hang low. For a precious moment, I've forgotten my latest annoyance, which circles even now -- beneath the surface and all around me. Those silvery beads are pale against my flesh, they spin, always in constant motion.

"Hi," the sway of my voice is even, but spoken at the deepest baritone possible. These eyes had been busy tracing the outline of each pectoral muscle and beyond, now they openly drift to find her gaze; though noticeably both lids widen when the opposing color is noticed...red eyes? Like a sunset, or fire in the treetops, or a harvest moon. Or blood. "Your eyes are really red," it wasn't meant to be cynical; merely an observation. These shoulders roll casually, "Very lovely, exotic," irises burn a subtle trail along the slim line of her neck -- and I wonder, absently, what the skin would feel like beneath my lips. Would the musk of salt give way to her true fragrance? A handsome smile climbs affront, "I'm Camon."