Hunter always felt drawn to the sea.
The ever-present roar of waves dragging themselves in, only to crash against rocky shorelines, then retreat backward to regather itself in its masses. Hunter always felt like the sea was hammering on Earth's land, pounding like some roaring drum as if to demand the Earth's attention.
'I'm here,' he wished to cry, calling out to whatever screamed for him.
Despite Hunter's strict rules, there was only so much self-discipline a man could possess before he caved and snuck out to answer the water's beckoning call. Maybe it was sound that drew Hunter near, a vast chorus of voices that Hunter felt he could harness. Of course, it would be a siren that felt so brazen and bold to believe they could harness anything Mother Nature made.
Oh, to be so daring as to command the songs of the sea.
Hunter did not leave his apartment without bundling up in layers to protect him from the cold and the wandering eyes of strangers. Tucked carefully under a thick beanie, Hunter hid a set of long, brown feathers with obsidian quills, a maker's mark he wished he could show off in pride, but this world was not ready yet. Clad in cold, earthy tones of stone grey, mossy green, and soil-rich brown, Hunter entered society under the cover of darkness for the sake of some whimsical fantasy to stand by the shore.
Now, here and making his way across rocks to a strip of beach, the tumultuous waves captured Hunter's being to its core, and he felt that pull stronger than he had before. At last, Hunter was at the sea, shivering from the frigid temperatures, carefully stepping around the larger rocks, looking at the crashing waves with fascination.
“I'm here,” He answered softly, gambling to speak out loud without fear of repercussion, and then boldly called out again:
“I'm here.”
Hunter felt powerful, but for anyone else wandering by in earshot, he might appear as some crazed individual screaming at the sea and slipping over stones.
The ever-present roar of waves dragging themselves in, only to crash against rocky shorelines, then retreat backward to regather itself in its masses. Hunter always felt like the sea was hammering on Earth's land, pounding like some roaring drum as if to demand the Earth's attention.
'I'm here,' he wished to cry, calling out to whatever screamed for him.
Despite Hunter's strict rules, there was only so much self-discipline a man could possess before he caved and snuck out to answer the water's beckoning call. Maybe it was sound that drew Hunter near, a vast chorus of voices that Hunter felt he could harness. Of course, it would be a siren that felt so brazen and bold to believe they could harness anything Mother Nature made.
Oh, to be so daring as to command the songs of the sea.
Hunter did not leave his apartment without bundling up in layers to protect him from the cold and the wandering eyes of strangers. Tucked carefully under a thick beanie, Hunter hid a set of long, brown feathers with obsidian quills, a maker's mark he wished he could show off in pride, but this world was not ready yet. Clad in cold, earthy tones of stone grey, mossy green, and soil-rich brown, Hunter entered society under the cover of darkness for the sake of some whimsical fantasy to stand by the shore.
Now, here and making his way across rocks to a strip of beach, the tumultuous waves captured Hunter's being to its core, and he felt that pull stronger than he had before. At last, Hunter was at the sea, shivering from the frigid temperatures, carefully stepping around the larger rocks, looking at the crashing waves with fascination.
“I'm here,” He answered softly, gambling to speak out loud without fear of repercussion, and then boldly called out again:
“I'm here.”
Hunter felt powerful, but for anyone else wandering by in earshot, he might appear as some crazed individual screaming at the sea and slipping over stones.