Fins Above:HOPE

CH.24

Cold. The air was getting colder, crisp and full with alabaster clouds. The passing seasons created a mix of summer and autumn, with the tip of the branches cooling in temperature. From above, rocky mountains rolled under each other, greenery smelling like newly shaved grasslands, and the soil becoming damp with a new dew from last night. It had rained far, and hard, jetting onto surfaces of the earth with hardly any calm. A tune of the wind came through. It sounded like the ocean waves. The ocean.

Beautiful, full of life, and disruption of life. There was something that split the ocean apart. When the light came downwards, one day it happened, and the sea was never the same. The Great Wake. Sirens descended upon the ocean from the Sand, and they came forth to give the merfolk something grand. Their biomes. Each used with careful intention. Each given with purpose. Inside that purpose, one biome lost its spark. Coral turned to curse, a curse of any king chaining their blade against the Forever Tree. To the light, they deserved this. They were deceiving, and filled with greed. So punishment was imminent.

Generations of curses, beautiful refractions of their downfall in the downpour of rain. The coral folk knew they were cursed, yet understood that this is what they are born to accept. That their folk made a mistake, and that mistake will haunt them forever. The wind blows once more. It is a warm breeze. Wrong. It is scolding hot. This wind is wrong. This is wrong.

Bankfoot shuffled his feet across the sandy earth, a large spindled hide headdress across his forehead, a traditional leaf leather tail covering warmed his fins, while a braided shawl decorated with feathers, fur, paints, and jewels clung to his wet skin. Before the seated group, he danced with pride. He had brought all that he could with him from the bay, even his decorated hammock. There was no doubt that he would bring his spirit clothing.

The northern pike flicked his tail, and spread his hanging scales, across many were gauges, like they were ears. Hook ornaments tied through the holes swung every which way as if they were bells in a church. Bankfoot widened his stance, jutting his elbows to his sides and placing his hands right above his chest. Like this, he swayed his hips to the side, and circled a fire that nicely blew within the summer chill. Against the cooling mist, Bankfoot let his eyes roll back, and whispers of a tale rise from his battered throat. Behind those black sclera, he searched for any connection to the oyewas, to his people. And once they returned ahead of him, he saw deep within the tumbling woods of the forest. Again, he danced, this time with his head low, back arched and with a stance of a feral beast. He pushed his shoulders like he was walking on all fours, letting a snarl shout between his razors of teeth. He held his stance as if he was mimicking a big cat. The group stayed calm with his display, Gem knowing that he was okay, and that this meant more than just a dance.

Bankfoot arched his back, head whipping upwards, and his tail catching up dust with each beat of an incoming drum. It sounded like thunder the way it came in, and with Staghorn as the lightning. The largemouth bass sat between the large, round drums, and hit against the two sided stick, held by a rotating stand. The wooden nails within shivered with age, but sounded bitter with the tune it made. The two made music, with Bankfoot's vocals and Staghorn's drumming. Each part looped around each other, weaving to avoid contact, but ultimately becoming one. Du du... du du... du du... dum dum, called the drum. It sounded nicely, and was of acceptance. Knowing that at any moment, the oyewas will take you. And they will reshape you. Bankfoot felt the heat of the drum, and felt slight tears run over his nose. There was something grand about them. About them being crafted by a merfolk who survived, by a merfolk who will be the last of their kind. A mature fin like him flared his scales, huffing out the tears as he danced around the fire.

Again, Bankfoot pushed his elbows out and swayed his hips, but this time he slowed to a stop. His ears widened, and rounded on the top of his head. Something was here with them. Something vicious, and he felt it's presence. The northern pike widened his mouth, and then flexed the muscles in his throat, lashing out a bark towards the sky. The wyverns did not stay within the swishing bundles of leaves. This the group knew. And Gem was the first to push her scales against the rough fire, demolishing it as she rolled towards the shore. Alongside her was Seiche and Stone, while Staghorn met at Bankfoot's curled tail. Nebula tried to explore upwards, but the scent of gunfire trailed the treetops and he fell to the earth, blood dousing his damp feathers with sorrow. It had begun once more. And this time, there was no holding back. Bankfoot had not seen the danger before, but his skin shuddered with remembrance, remembering what slaughter his people crumbled at.