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The interface between sky and sea had always fascinated Bastian.
Some days, the ocean was a faintly rolling bolt of silk, and some days it was a roiling cauldron, with foaming peaks and churning valleys.
Mostly, when the sky was stormy, the ocean was wild, but some days, like this one, it was still and blue above, but some distant weather system was causing deep currents and tall, curving mountains of waves.
Bastian swam near the surface, letting the agitated water wash over his scales.
It had been years since he first slipped into the ocean, unable to resist its siren call as a child. His younger brother, Keylor, had flown down and scooped him out, sent by his parents, who were sure that his presence in the water was some kind of childish mistake, or a clumsy misstep.
Bastian tried to explain to his frowning father and his worried mother and his scornful brother that it wasn’t an accident. He had wanted to be in the ocean, had deliberately gone out in it, swimming cautiously with limbs made for fighting and flying.
Originally posted at Dreamwidth: https://ellenmillion.dreamwidth.org/1654703.html