The Cove

Catching sight of a silfrix flock, some twenty-thousand strong, passing overhead on a cloudlessly clear day like today, can, without warning, take one’s breath; snatching it away, to the verge of faint. Their deep yellow plumage against vibrant blue sky arrests the soul as would a lover’s desirous gaze. With the sun at their side as it now resides, shadow play across the burly fowl as they fly is a feast for the eyes. Their elegant, forward sweeping wings carry them along, alternately extending and drawn to, revealing flashes of sapphire, azure sky above them in an oscillating continuum, a symphony of colour.

It is popular opinion that there be only one flock of silfrix in exitance, that the entire population stays and migrates together. This, as their nature mandates, is true. Rumour also supposes that they never set down on land, that they are only ever in flight or sat, boating as a fleet on the open oceans, far beyond the sight of terra firma. This, of course, is untrue. As the flock crosses high above the barrier of shore and sea, all spread their wings to ride the moist thermal up draughts that carry them seaward and on towards their destination; the ever-evasive purveyor of light that sets just beyond the horizon.

The sun is today lower in the sky than it normally seems. Shadows feel longer than they should for this time of day. The open sea this side of the continent always finds and scatters the sun’s rays, no matter the time the local village bells toll. But the perfect, near untouched beach that lines East Aelathia’s smallest, most hidden cove, cradled by the reposeful, descending hills that almost entirely surround it, is bathed in cooling shade. Here, the sweet scent of late summer rose hips lace the breeze. Waves break on the rocks shielding the cove, but all inside is pacific. The only indication of without is the sunlight caught by the grasses on the edge of the cliffs above, a yellow-green crown atop the secluded refuge below and the gentle toing and froing of current in the tidal pond. The clear blue sky and the concealed, fawn-coloured cove cast a milieu of early evening and fashions ideal condition for secluded privacy and mutual adoration.

The cove is a secreted retreat that only the lovers know. They meet here as often as they are able, and at times, more. It is sanctuary. A haven away from the mundaneness of everyday life. Away from any and every affliction. None here near to abruptly confront them with questions or condemnations. None near to distract them from their passion. No one and nothing to distract them from each other.

Here, where sea meets skit, where dying waves start their gentle retreat, returning to the sea, two bodies lie, swathed in intimate embrace. Tapin reclines, learning again Rol’s chiseled, alluring features, his face, so very close to hers. His touch explores her brow, her cheek, her lips. Tapin’s eyelids drift narrow. She arches her spine, shoulders against the sand, pressing in to him, his broad, muscular torso at her breast. Her fingertips trace the contours of his jaw as she delves into his steel blue eyes. Her fingers dance along the taut skin of his arm, his sinewy shoulder and over the pulsating ridges at the side of his neck. With a deft hand, she sweeps his tousled black mane aside and reaches to meet his exquisite mouth again with a kiss. A kiss laden with restrained desire. After a fleeting lifetime, she reclines again and lets his salt-speckled locks fall as they may, brushing her face as it does, and again exploring him with her fingers, eyes gazing and lips again longing for oral caress.

Tapin; her beauty beyond beauty. Her spirit; uncapturable. Her grace; unwordable. Her presence; consuming, like the sea. Her charm; rapturous, like the waves that feverishly strip away at the land and all in its path. Her love; like the deepened springs that cause the oceans to boil.

Rol could behold forever her tresses of gold. Her radiant air. And her eyes. Her hypnotic, enchanting eyes. Piercing eyes. The colour of sand.

She is a hatchling, royalty, born to be exalted and adored. His future Queen. Raised to rule.

Rol is a breather, able to mount the dry and not succumb to the sun’s glaring rays. A warrior, a servant, he is outclast. Forever in servitude. Aide to his charge, in perpetuity.

Raised to know his place.

This is the Merrish way. These are the laws they shun.

She is his. And he hers.

A shallow wave rushes past the young lovers, splaying Tapin’s hair on the shore beneath her. Rol cups the passing water in his hand and holds it above her. She arches her back again and tightens her grip of him, urging him to do as he has done before, to keep her alive. Rol trickles the water through his fingers and into her mouth, drip by drip. She eagerly sups. Down the water flows, following the contours of her throat and finding its way out, over her gills. Again, she breathes. She gasps at the life-giving drams, delivered to her by Rol’s own hand, replenishing her vital, desirous need.

Untold time they spend this way, wanting never to leave. But they know they will. They know they must. To return, here, on some future day, to love each other again.

Rol hums quietly, inferring they should leave the solitude of their cove. The return of the tide, they’ve agreed, is sign they would. Tapin furrows her brow and clutches at him, pulling him close. He kisses her slowly, passionately. Their lips together, he hums again, insistently, his chest vibrating solidly under her touch. She pulls away, a tear gathers at her eye. A glint grows in his. She gazes at him, reluctance her mien, but she can’t suppress her urge to smile. They blink alternately at each other, playing amidst the sorrow of impending divide. Tapin hums in accord. They pull themselves into the surf and swim free of the sand once depth allows. On any previous day, they would only touch whilst in the confines of their cove, savouring the feel of the other until the last.

But not today.

Submerged, they converse.

‘We shall return together.’ Tapin commands.

‘And if we’re seen?’ Rol submits.

‘Then damned be us all.’

She takes a firmer hold of his hand and just beyond the jagged, upright stones that rise defiantly at the edge of the open sea, they dive.

The last sight of the young lovers from their secret haven is the glimpse of their tail fins at the water’s surface, propelling them into the swells.

A heartbeat later, half a world away, the last of the silfrix follow their flock out of sight, and beyond the horizon.

The End