of the sea

There is a rustle in the trees and any sense of calm or security flees the woman in an instant. He’s lured her here to attack her. She should have known. Of course he had predators in skies, winged beasts that lived in the trees. He had magic that could take her sight! Why wouldn’t he have an attack planned for the moment her guard dropped?

Ridges raise, her single un-torn fin flares and vibrates, eyes growing bright and angry from her nearly submerged position in the water. Though she may be torn and bleeding, let him try to take her in the water. Regardless of her injuries, she would have the upper hand in the pond (or so she believed). 

Only once does her resentful glare leave Cem, darting to the disappearing black wings of the dragon, before hisses left her peeled-back lips, “You dare lure me here to—” But her violent snarl is cut short by the sudden appearance of a pale, earth-bound woman. Answers to Aquila’s earlier questions spill from her lips just as petals sprinkle from her hair. And they are growing? 

There was more magic here than the sea-birthed woman had realized. 

Slowly, her ridges lay flat and her good fin tucks into the crease of her jaw and neck. Unblinking eyes dart between the tall, white man and the smaller, pale healer. Though she is not as relaxed as he had been when she first entered the pool, her obvious outrage fades into the blue-tinted water. 

A quick glance takes in Cem as he introduces himself, but not her. Was her name that foreign? Shark stare bounces back to the woman as she asks after the blue life that seeps into the liquid around her. The fresh water still stung her open wounds with every moment, and so it is with wary glances towards the dragon that she chooses to answer the woman rather than try to return to the ocean. “I am Aquila. Yes, this is my blood,” her growl is defensive, terse, “Your companion is a dragon? You can trust it?” Her moving, too-large eyes finally come to rest suspiciously on the small, winged creature. “They eat my kind— Akvians— in the Rift,” her explanation was more of a reason for her to stay away from the mare who offered her help.

But the entire reason she followed the untrustworthy Cem was to be healed. So, with slow and cautious movement and rigid (if sore) muscles, she approaches where the woman stood on the bank, “If you are a caretaker, then why are you asking if you can help?” her question is pointed, blunt but not necessarily rude. The woman is still uneasy, even remaining in the water, “My injuries are from sparring in the Flats, and they need healing. A caretaker can do that?” Though her words were a question, they boarded between query and demand.