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Personal Style
Apparel
Skin
Scene
Measurements
Length
7.95 m
Wingspan
8.67 m
Weight
1056.04 kg
Genetics
Banana
Cherub
Cherub
Aqua
Foam
Foam
Seafoam
Sparkle
Sparkle
Hatchday
Breed
Eye Type
Level 10 Coatl
EXP: 1342 / 27676
STR
6
AGI
7
DEF
6
QCK
7
INT
7
VIT
5
MND
6
Lineage
Biography
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Psamathe
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Surfer ____________________________ outgoing • optimistic • irresponsible “You're coming to the party, right?” | _____ |
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Every morning there is a girl on the pier, watching the ocean. Her hair flows in flaxen waves in the sea breeze; her long dress is the colour of the shoreline. Every morning when Psamathe comes down to surf, she’s there, standing immobile but for the way the wind moves her; and every afternoon when she leaves, the girl is gone.
Psamathe picks flowers from the grassy knoll and watches the girl. How long must she stand there every day? How long has she been coming here? Psamathe can’t remember a time when she wasn’t around. What is she doing? Is she waiting for something?
“Why don’t you ask her?” says Lexi at her side, and Psamathe realizes she’s been thinking out loud again.
“What?”
Lexi rolls her eyes, smiling. “You’ve been watching her for the past moon. Just go talk to her, Psam.”
Her heart shoots into her throat. “Oh—! but what if she – I dunno? What if I scare her away or something?”
Lexi laughs. “You’re talking nonsense. Haven’t you said yourself that you’re never one to resist inviting someone to a party?”
“I’m not inviting her to party!” she retorts, defensive. But she doesn’t know why. “Fine. You know what? Fine! I’ll go talk to her. And maybe I will invite her to a party!” She stands dramatically.
“There’s no party this week,” Lexi reminds her gently.
Psamathe deflates. “Maker above, Lexi.”
“I’m just saying!”
“I know, I know.” Psamathe picks herself up again. “I’m doing it. Wish me luck!”
She runs down the beach, bare toes digging into sand with every step. Psamathe loves the beach: more than anything, more than the treehouse or the sky or the surf, the sand is her home. Though the terrain is soft, threatening to abandon her weight, she’s nimble and light on her feet, her tail balancing her, her wings extending when needed. She’s well-versed in the way the sand moves, the way it works with the water to hold together, the way it crumbles when oversoaked. No one can navigate the beach like Psamathe, and no one loves it more.
Her feet hit the old, worn wood of the pier with a hollow thud, and she takes the rest of the distance on wing, easily reading the ocean’s stiff winds. She lands a respectable distance away from the girl at the end of the pier, making enough noise to announce her arrival but not so much as to startle. The girl doesn’t move, but the twitch of her long, graceful ears signals that she’s sensed Psamathe’s presence.
“Um,” says Psamathe, suddenly nervous. Her voice comes out tiny, a squeak. She coughs under her breath, hoping the wind has masked her, and tries again louder. “Um, hello,” she says. “What’s your name?”
The girl doesn’t move, respond, or otherwise react for a moment, and Psamathe starts to wonder if this was a bad idea after all. But she can’t give up now. Just as she’s about to try again, she hears a voice - a voice as rich and vast and mysterious as the sea: “Rephe.”
“Rephe… Oh, like the coral reef!” Emboldened by her success, Psamathe takes a careful step closer. “I’m Psamathe, but everyone calls me Psam. I noticed you come here a lot. I just… y’know, I thought I’d come say hi.”
Rephe doesn’t answer.
“Um, I come here a lot too, y’know? I dunno if you’ve seen me around… I like to go surfing in the morning. Sometimes I play beach volleyball with my friends. And we have beach parties at night! I mean, not every night – and not this week, Fera has to fix the lighthouse – but I, um, I was wondering if you’d want to come?” She’s rambling now, but she can’t stop or she’ll get cold feet and turn tail. “I mean – you don’t have to! I don’t know if – if you like crowds or anything. It’s not usually too bad. Just me and Lexi and Fera, and Demacya and her best friend sometimes come even if Demy isn’t that into it, and Ancale when she can make it, and – oh, it kind of is a lot of people, isn’t it…? I’m so sorry, I don’t know what I’m saying. I should – I’m gonna… go.”
Cursing her sudden nerves, Psamathe turns, wings spreading.
“Psamathe.”
She nearly trips over her own feet. She whirls around, and finds her breath stolen by the breeze: Rephe is more beautiful than the glittering waves, with fair features and eyes like the sunset. She looks at Psamathe and smiles, and it lights her up.
“Psamathe,” she says, “do you ever listen to the ocean?”
Psamathe blinks. “I guess, yeah. It’s pretty loud.”
“You hear it. But do you listen?”
They both fall silent, and the waves take over. Nearby, they lap at the shore, splashing over themselves, their repetition comforting; in the distance they are a constant murmur, familiar, soothing. To Psamathe, the sounds of the ocean are a rhythmic whisper: be calm, they say, and follow your Heart. Psamathe realizes her eyes are closed, the swell and ebb of the water flowing in time with her breathing.
“I’m listening,” she says, softly.
When Rephe speaks, Psamathe discovers that she is quite close: but the realization doesn’t startle her. “Sometimes,” says Rephe by her ear, “if you speak to the sea, she will reply.”
Psamathe’s eyes open. Rephe stands before her, serene. Her smile is brighter than the dazzling sun on the water’s surface, brighter than Fera’s lighthouse on a moonless night.
“She – the sea. She told me to give you this,” says Psamathe, and holds out a flower she picked. It’s a lush blossom the colour of the velvet night, its delicate petals curled in a spiral around its centre, with a spray of frilly leaves at its base. “She told me to give you this and ask if you’d like to come to the party next week.”
Rephe accepts the flower graciously. “Thank you.” She pauses for a moment to thread the flower into her hair.
Psamathe listens to the sea again, and says, “That looks beautiful on you.”
Rephe smiles again. “Next week is not soon enough,” she replies. “I will come to the party, but would you meet me here again tomorrow?”
“Of course!” says Psamathe at once. “I’d love to hear more about the sea. Not from her – from you. I love the surf and the sun, but the beach is my home, y’know? The ocean’s pretty big. Always seemed a bit… scary.”
“We fear what we don’t understand.” Rephe holds out a hand, and after a moment’s hestitation, Psamathe takes it. It’s warm and soft. “Psamathe, I’ve learned that the sea is not a puzzle to be unlocked. It’s a soul to be heard, to be listened to.”
“I’ll listen,” she says, tightening her grip on Rephe’s hand. “I’ll listen to every word.”
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MIND ■■□□□□ BODY ■■■■□□ HEART ■■■■■■ SOUL ■■■■□□ 
wwwwwwwwwwwwwww |
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FACTION Beyond the City SPECIES wevlin PRONOUNS she/her ALIGNMENT chaotic good ___________________ |
Hex's Notes wrote:
PSAM IS A WONDERFUL CUTIE AND NO ONE CAN TELL ME OTHERWISE.
art by Hexephre
art by treesponge - shop
adopt by Shakshun
adopt by sapchip - shop
adopt by beefystew - shop
adopt by Aevios
This dragon belongs to Hexephre #188421
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