They may have all been playing a fool’s game – been led by a piper down into ruins and disaster, strung and led together by the tides of barbarity, but the boy was still too young, still too ignorant (despite what he’d seen and heard). He was snared just like the rest, entranced, enticed, by the sensation of adventure, by the glorious highlights of what could be, not jaded or bitter enough to stand along the shore and spout irreverence. While Orsino was vastly disappointed (because there had yet to be a single ounce of blood spilt, because no destruction had befallen them, because no merciless rampages had been constructed), Erebos listened intently, ears twisted, attention so pinpointed, so riveted, that he scarcely noticed anyone else nearby. The kitsune might have mentioned Rikyn, slinking off behind them, touching close to the shadows (suspicious, he could’ve hissed), and the warrior wouldn’t have ever noticed. He was too intent on their cause, on their task, to give anything else much thought. The mission alone gave him great pause – because he’d never had to swim before.
 
He’d never had to learn. What would’ve been the point when he could grace the water’s surface, when he could coast along the waves, when he could join the tides and run across their wares until it ended on the other side of the world? The prince had been granted and blessed with such a gift from birth – the hazardous tear of the ocean had never called to him, had never plundered his soul, had never drained all of his strength or muscles; he’d been a Lilliputian Poseidon, wreaking havoc and ruling the veneer, staring at fish, laughing at the gulls. It’d come from his mother, he was certain, because she’d been made of the rain and mist, showers and shoal, shells and surf, and he’d used it to the best of his abilities – crashing amidst the stars, never sinking, never shirking, living life to the fullest on top of the bountiful, eternal sea. The youth’s eyes narrowed to the rolling current, to the seaweed promising air under the foamy finish, and he heaved one valorous breath, before waltzing towards the bracken.
 
It was just like always – his hooves touched the waves, and instead of being thrown into their wild midst, he was walking along their wares, a blue titan matched in an all-consuming expanse. Orsino stayed along the dunes, growling and rolling his eyes, and the Basin lad promptly ignored him, drawing his stare down, where other beasts had called to the God’s commandments, where they drifted into coral reefs and shadows. For a moment, his opportunity was lost. The seaweed snatched and clenched with his maw would do no good – he’d see nothing at all but their bodies disappearing into the fathoms below. Except Erebos had always had a clever streak in him, a sensation of Machiavellian tendencies his sire passed along, and he hated to be outwitted, outmaneuvered, or outdone. He snorted briefly, taking in those precious breaths of air, before sending his cranium down into the midst, twisting his body below the surface, while his daggers remained completely stationary, stuck to the sea, and he could see them all, upside down as it were. He wouldn’t be going any farther, and he couldn’t reach the flickering hues of coral, but it was better than nothing at all. Perhaps he’d be able to catch a few sights, a few sounds, and report back to those lingering on the dunes, waiting for news of recent events.
 
[Due to Erebos’ water-walking magic, he can’t go any further than the surface. He chooses to take the seaweed anyway, goes out a bit from the shore, and throws his body underneath the waves, so his feet remain planted on the surface, but he can see what’s going on. Basically hanging upside down. ;D]

Erebos

i have nothing, but then the have is not as good as the want