Syrena

let the water take me

It isn’t long before a voice cuts into her peace. Not quite the ‘and quiet’ part of that, since there are others around working in small and large groups. But for a brief moment she was alone with her thoughts and the sound of the waves lapping against the shore. But she is not surprised that another finds her. At least half of Helovia, maybe more, were out cleaning up the dead things for Kisamoa. Some grumbled about it, some proclaimed not to trust him, and yet here they were anyway.

His question almost makes her laugh, and not at it, but because it’s a rather valid question. Instead, she settles with turning her head to find the source of the voice. A stallion with dreadlocks and beads in his mane and tail. Okay then. Helovia never ceases to amaze her. There was a full on sea-horse running around, her, horses with wings in all thw wrong places, and many strange things. But he might take the cake. Maybe because he is otherwise so very normal.

He whistles like he’s impressed, though she doubts he is. It’s a tiny little pile really, because she’d be avoiding anything she couldn’t kick with her hoof. Sticking bones in her mouth was just highly unlikely. Before she has a chance to respond, another voice cuts in there, answering his question. Again, she turns to find the source of the sound. A black and white mare she does not know, but who comes to join them and throws herself to work. Acceptable.

The mare’s next words are all sass and for a brief moment, a flicker of a smile appears on Syrena’s lips. It feels strange there, and anyone looking would probably assume they just saw something. It comes and goes so quickly, the muscles too unpracticed to hold such a thing, the mare too stony on the outside. But it is there for a moment, and that is something. It’s quite a lot, actually. “Syrena,” she offers, largely to the mare who’s she decided she likes, but somewhat to the stallion as well.

Her next comments are directed toward him, however. She has not yet decided about him, but she doesn't dislike him. There's something in those sea blue eyes that makes her suspect she will, in fact, like him. Though that may only extend so far to a shared love for the sea, but she does not yet know this. “There are often rewards,” she says in that pretty yet deadpan voice, two things so very incongruous together. But that is her in a nutshell. She swirls a hoof through some particularly foul water, letter the dead plants gather on her now blue and purple leg before unceremoniously dumping them into the pile of dead things. “Greed is a powerful motivator.”

"words"