Pasithea but AW!

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He didn't remember what night it was that his sleep had become eternal. All he remembered was drifting off to sleep alongside Pasithea, coiled up like a protective serpent around her much smaller frame. It had been commonplace for them to fall asleep that way ... for they'd sought the comfort of one another even more deeply since the disappearance of their pack and the rest of their family.

But for some reason, that night ... Makara had disappeared from Mythris. And perhaps it was the longest dream he'd ever had ... or perhaps ... perhaps he really had gone back. His memory of his time away was hazy, splotchy, and reminiscent of a half-remembered dream. There was an ethereal quality about the days that passed when he was there.

The sounds came in chants, the muffled waves of the ocean undulating against his eardrums. And in his dreams, he was swimming within the icy sea, serpentine and scaled once more. Gliding through the ocean was easy and familiar. The landmarks were familiar — but they were not Mythris landmarks.

It felt lonely.

And he felt cold,
no longer able to rely on his warm-blooded body.

Serpents did not feel warmth in that way.

But as he swam, gliding and slithering through the depths of a dark ocean ... he would seek light. He would seek warmth.  And it was in that form that he searched. And he did not know for how long it was ... but every night he would rest at the bottom of the ocean and look toward the reflections of life around him ... settling into the shadows at the bottom of the sea ...

... he was patient, but he was desperate ...

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He didn't remember what night it was that his sleep had brought him back.

The first thing he heard was the loud, crashing sounds of the waterfalls. No longer were the sounds muffled, steadily growing and hammering into his head with an unfamiliar urgency. And the beast would groan, the freezing air harsh against his lungs. And he would cough, releasing ... air ... from his lungs.

Air. He was in the air.

With a notable jolt, the lanky man would waken, his eyes shooting open as he scrambled awkwardly to his paws. Once more, the normally graceful man would sway like a newborn deer, jaw slightly agape as he noted where he was. He knew this body, and yet ... he did not know this place. The ring of waterfalls expanded around him — and normally, he would have been moved by their beauty and power.

And yet ...

Pasi? A note of panic touched his rough voice, uneven from disuse.

Where was he?

Where was she?

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She remembered warmth and light. Fur and steady breaths. She remembered feeling loved. Feeling calm.

She remembered Makara.

But then there was a soothing darkness before there was light. But then there was light. Clouds and sky, breezes and earthy aromas, flowery scents followed, but everything was wrapped in shadows. Her tiny body was being floated somewhere, where she did not know, but she knew somehow she was alone.

She didn't like being alone. Being away from the one who had somehow come to place himself in her heart was cold and lonely inside. So where her body felt the warmth of the hidden sun, her heart was cold. Her soul was empty.

She cried soft sounds, almost lost whimpers on the winds as she was placed back down. Down on the hard ground, though gently, she was placed slumbering as if she'd never left this plain they called Mythris. The sounds of crashing falls woke her with a start and the tiny woman let out a strangled yelp that was lost behind the sounds of the thundering waterfalls nearby.

Makara! She screamed leaping to her feet.

Whipping her head around the woman flattened her ears against her head and frantically whipped around in circles trying to get her bearings. She didn't know where she was, where dear Makara was, and she was losing it. She quickly got to work tripping over her sleepy feet and searching the area trying to find the one she'd lost.

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Everything was noise, a static that filled his head with an agonizing ache as his wide eyes scanned for her. The dragon's head swam, filled with a confusing mixture of memories that spanned across too many lives — but they all crashed down around the memories of Mythris. Of his family. Of Pasithea.

Near mindless, he stumbled forward, quaking upon weak mortal limbs and sliding upon the icy terrain of winter. The twinkling mist from the waterfalls half-froze in the air, touching his skin with freezing bites that were gentle reminders of his mortality. But he ignored the warnings, simply pushing forward.

"Makara!"

Oh, his mind was cruel, wasn't it? To hear her on the breeze was torture. The man would slow, sliding to a lilting halt as he opened his eyes against the dark clouds and winter mist. Every fur along his nape suddenly stood on end — he swore he could smell it, the saline mix of sea salt and florals. And out of the corner of his eye, he saw her, a beacon of light against a Stygian wasteland.

Pasithea ... First, a whisper.

Pasi! Louder, then, as he began to move his awkward paws and move toward her. Illusion or not, he needed to know. Segðu mér að það sé satt (Tell me it is true), he would beg into the breeze. He could only ache for her, reaching for her now with only hope in his rattling heart.

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The gods were cruel. Throwing shadows of her past in front of her, images of Makara dancing on the horizon, the crunch of snow under his paws, his voice. The way he approached her with his scents of sand, vanilla, flowers and melon. She turned away at first, shying her tear stained optics from the man, then his voice came clear, his language of another tongue dancing through her audits. Blinking she turned back and stared, holding back those tears as she felt the ache of longing in her body. It wasn't new but it wasn't old. It was present.

Makara... Ert þetta virkilega þú...? (Makara... Is that really you...?) She whispered back, taking a step in the snow towards him. Tilting her head up to look upon his large frame, the way his fur danced and twisted in the winds. Perhaps this wasn't a dream? Maybe it was real what she was seeing? Smelling? Nearly tasting... She blinked again, icy eyes staring upwards towards the mans own steely silvers.

Ekki ljúga... Ertu raunverulegur...? (Don't lie... Are you real...?) She questioned the "apparition", her nose bobbing a few times towards his scent, taking it in in case any moment it might disappear before her eyes.

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