Looking at Garrett in the water (where he will always be).
This is what being alone feels like but better.
He came back. He said that he would (and maybe he does lie, sometimes, but he didn’t lie this time). He comes back with a pretty pink scar where there had been a wound and glass and blood (and briefly Fenris’ fingers) the last time he’d seen him.
And Fenris wants to ask questions (now that he has more paper, he’s started another list of questions) but he doesn’t because Garrett looks tired.
There are blue veins under his skin, at his temples and under his eyes and in the skin on the insides of his wrists and his skin seems thinner than last time.
You’re tired, Fenris says from the edge of the rocks.
Garrett shrugs, in the water, and says, It’s a long way away and back.
There is grey in his beard. It was there before but Fenris just hadn’t seen it.
Brought you this, Garrett lifts a bottle from the water and the water drips down his arm and into his armpit (where there is hair) and down his ribs (where there is just skin).
What is it? Fenris asks, not moving and Garrett comes closer to him.
Rum, he says.
How do you not know how to swim? he asks and Fenris swallows fire and rubs tears out of his eyes.
I was never taught, he says when he can say anything.
Yeah, but… Garrett’s eyebrows come together and he looks at his own hands in the water, but couldn’t you just learn?
No, Fenris says.
Why?
I was a slave.
Oh. Garrett looks up at him, everything in him smooth in an instant, But couldn’t you learn now?
And there’s no easy way to explain the feeling that Fenris has then. He doesn’t have the letters for it and he doesn’t know how to draw it out on paper or even want to because the feeling is—
He drinks. His eyes water. He swallows.
I don’t want to, he says. And that should be enough, shouldn’t it?
You should try, Garrett says, scratching his beard. I could teach you.
And Fenris (who feels hot in his cheeks now and smooth at least on the surface if not deep inside) smirks with one half of his mouth and says, I don’t think you’d be a fair teacher.
Garrett takes the bottle back, drinks, and swallows without flinching and asks, Why not?
You can breathe underwater, Fenris says. And above it. There’s no risk for you. I could drown.
And Garrett says nothing for a long time after that. He drinks rum and looks out at the water and Fenris wishes he’d said something different but it was true and he meant it so maybe he doesn’t really wish that at all.
III.
Garrett looks up at him through clear water and his eyes are blue and calm. Underwater.
He breathes.
Fenris is on the rocks. Fingers and toes gripping the rocks. Holding on.
But he needed to see.
He wants to understand.
And to see.
Garrett breathes, blinking calmly beneath the surface as easy as Fenris breathes air. Then with a flex of shoulders and tail he comes up, easy, his head and shoulders out of the water and he breathes air too. Just as well.
His hair is in his eyes, See?
And without thinking about it more than instinct and rum, Fenris reaches forward with one hand and pushes thick wet (soft) hair out of Garrett’s face, touching the curve of his skull. His scalp.
And Garrett gasps (which he swallows and which sounds like a groan) and slips back down into the water away from Fenris and his hands and the surface.
Fenris’ fingers are wet and he dries them on his pants and stands up on the rocks.
It’s not true, Garrett says softly, not looking at Fenris at all but at the seaweed that he’s twisted around himself, What you said. There’s always a risk. For me. Up here or down. There’s always a risk.
You won’t drown, Fenris says.
That’s true, Garrett says, but that doesn’t mean—
He stops, in the water, looking at Fenris on the rocks where he is further out than he has been before, standing there dry with the much less full bottle of rum in his hand, and he says, Meet me somewhere else tomorrow.
I can’t come tomorrow, Fenris says, I have to work.
In the woods? Garrett asks, one eyebrow arching.
In the woods, Fenris says.
Garrett flips himself backwards, untangling himself from the seaweed and comes up near the rocks.
And Fenris feels that airlessness in his lungs again because it’s seeing Garrett do that that reminds him, again, that he is the thing that he is and not human or elf. Not like him.
Where? he asks, forcing the word out without any air.
Garrett tells him. A different bit of shore. There’s a cave. Half in the water and half out. Meet me there, he says, the day after tomorrow.
IV.
He does not tell red that he’s going there. To the cave.
They work next to each other all day. He is distracted and burns his arm and she is rough with him as she runs cool water over the burn. As she breaks open a piece of a green plant that grows all over the village and rubs some of the gel that comes out of the broken halves into his skin. It feels cool.
Pay attention to what you’re doing, Fenris, she says. He nods.
V.
It’s a strange sound. Not a dog but barking. He knows what it is because he’s heard them before.
Fenris walks towards the cave. It’s farther away than the shore with the rocks and the calm water (where Garrett brought him and where they’ve always met) and the water here is not calm. It crashes against the sides of the cave and he remembers waves like that, the feeling on the shaking up through his feet and his legs through the ship. He remembers but he keeps walking.
Towards the sound. On the other side of the cave. In the sand.
It’s a sea lion. Barking.
Fenris knows that before he sees the animal, before he comes around the curve of the cave and stops.
Stops.
Because Garrett is there. Out of the water. Lying on his back in the sand.
All of him. Stretched out and full.
The tail. Powerful and long, red and silver and black. Not delicate. His scars (more of them than he’s noticed before). Fingers and hands and arms. His chest rising and falling and breathing and pale. Tiny blue veins and thin skin and freckles. His hair is dry. In the sand.
Fenris doesn’t move. He doesn’t understand how he got there. How long he’s been there. Garrett’s eyes are closed. His mouth opens and a sound comes out but it gets lost between the two of them and the sea lion (a sleek brown thing) comes closer to him, barking.
The mist of waves crashing touches Fenris’ face and he blinks, turning away from the water.
This is not what being alone feels like, he thinks.
I wanted you to see this, Garrett says and when Fenris turns back he sees him sitting up, human (so human) above the waist.
This? Fenris says, stepping back from the sea lion.
Me, Garrett says and the word tries to sound easy in his voice but it fails.
Why?
I don’t know, Garrett answers.
And they are separate for a long time because Fenris won’t move and Garrett can’t (Fenris does not understand how he got here and tries not to imagine Garrett pulling himself across the sand with his arms, tries not to imagine him dragging that powerful not-human half of his body across rocks and shells and sand because it’s so heavy and useless to him on land) until finally Fenris stomps towards him and sits down next to him. Just sits. In the sand with him facing forward.
Is this where you live? he asks, hard, jaw-tight, keeping his eyes forward.
Sometimes, Garrett answers, looking at him from the corner of his eye, when I’m here.
Why here, Garrett?
He hears Garrett swallow. It has to be here, he says.
Why?
Because I need to… Garrett shakes his head, Because I need to find him.
Find who? He looks at Garrett. His lips are dry and cracked and not bloody (yet) but look painful and they part when he answers.
He lights a candle (beeswax) that he keeps in a broken mug by his bed (which is small and low to the floor next to the fire) and writes just a little while at night before falling asleep (or pretending to, she isn’t really sure sometimes).
I.
Sometimes the words that he writes down (things that he feels) are not real words. Or not all the letters are real. Or that the shape that he presses (too hard) into the sheet of paper (which is mostly full on one side by the end of the week) mean nothing except to him because they are his (he made them up). A new shape between an ‘I’ and a “t” in light (because he can feel light) and a different mark for the sound in the middle of want (which he makes and which makes sense but looks nothing like what want should look like).
He folds the list up in the morning and puts it in his pocket.
And he is aware of two things by the end of that week.
His hand writing is terrible.
And carrying around that many feelings in his pocket feels like a heavy thing.
But a good thing.
Come with me, red says and Fenris shakes his head.
There’s a merchant who comes halfway between here and the city and she wants him to go with her (it’s just after breakfast and there’s already ash in his hair) to help her carry things back.
Fenris has not left the village since he woke up in red’s house and he shakes his head, no.
But red waits for him. Stubborn. She crosses her arms.
Please, red says.
III.
He goes with her, trailing behind, and keeps his head low.
The ocean is farther away from him now than it’s been since he can remember. And the air feels more still. More stale. Coming down off of mountains and grass rather than from far away (from the horizon) and Fenris feels his skin sweat because it’s warm in a way that he’s not used to.
The merchant is a dwarf and he has his son with him and he knows red quite well (apparently) and they smile when they see each other in a way that seems real.
red talks with the merchant (fabric and flour and liquids in little blue glass bottles) and Fenris stands back, watched by the son who has wide blank light eyes.
He doesn’t care much for being watched.
When he’s packed up, carrying as much as he can (which is less than what red can carry -- his arms are strong but not as strong and not as long) Fenris follows red again but he’s stopped by the son who grabs onto his sleeve. Here, the boy says, and he gives Fenris a little metal thing (more junk) slipping it into his pocket.
He will not look at the thing until he reaches into his pocket for the (heavy good) list to add sweat and dry and finds, next to the paper and warm from his body and from being so far inland, a little silver shield. Smaller than the palm of his hand. Dented.
IV.
How old are you, red? he asks and she shrugs.
Old enough. How old are you, Fenris?
I have no idea, he says and drinks wine (a gift from the merchant who had not seen her since the baby was born). His voice comes out rough and tired, How old do you think I am?
She thinks, studying him with cat eyes.
They are inside. Outside it’s just started to rain a little. That will make it harder to keep the fires lit but they will manage. red rips strips of fabric into rags (much to the delight of the baby) and says, between strips, Ancient.
He smirks into his cup of wine. Hidden. And how old is Garrett, do you think?
Oh. Rip. He’s ancient too.
Oh?
Yes. Rip. They live a long time.
Oh. He swallows wine, too much in one gulp. His throat stings.
That’s what he’s told me, anyway. Rip. He might have been lying.
Does he lie?
I think so. Sometimes. Rip.
How did you meet him?
I—she stops herself, looks at Fenris. She pours herself wine. I went exploring.
Exploring?
Years ago.
Years? How many?
Five? I don't know. There’s a cave off the water. In the water. Half in and half out. She frowns. Drinks. Rips fabric. The baby laughs at the sound. I was curious. I went in the cave. And there were things there. Inside.
Things?
You’d call it junk. She grins. Drinks. Rips. The baby laughs.
His things.
His. Yes. He wasn’t there, then, but I came back. I brought a jar. Left it. When I came back, the day after, it was there but it was full of glass. Bits of it. Sea glass. I took the glass, in my pockets, and left the jar. The next day I came back and it was full of little bones. From birds and fish. I took those. Next day, wooden beads. I took those, strung them on a necklace. It was magic.
Him?
Him. Yes. I stayed. I stayed till he came. A night and a day. When I met him I gave him the necklace and I was afraid but not afraid.
Fenris drinks wine in his chair and red rips more fabric and the baby laughs and then red says, quietly in her beautiful strange voice, You like him, Fenris.
And it’s not a question.
And he looks at her, but he doesn’t answer because you don’t answer things that aren’t questions and he tries not to see what looks like sadness in her.
Like sadness but not. Not quite. Not really.
Like so many things, still, he knows it when he sees it, but he doesn't yet know the right name for it.
V.
You're running out of room, red says.
He has his candle lit (in the mug) and was writing and did not know red was awake (he has the shield in the hand that isn't writing and the silver feels nice against the scars on his palm).
She stands up, out of her bed, and takes something from her pack. She hands it to him, gives him a book, and she stands close to him back he does not hide his list from her (she probably couldn't read his letters anyway).
When he opens the book inside all the pages are blank.
What is this for? Fenris asks her but he already knows.
She smiles at him and looks tired (Ancient, too) and says, For you to write in.
There have been various posts (here and here are examples) about Ramadan. Normally I am excited by people posting about Islam in any manner; the religion is a fascinating one. However, I became ashamed.
The people who posted about Ramadan seem to have no idea what it is, the rules, or the reason it occurs.
The biggest problems with the posts:
Myth: Tagging food as “NSFW", as seeing food will break fast
Fact: Seeing, smelling, or being around food in general will not break fast. Also, the fast is going without food and drink, not just forgoing food.
Myth: “if they see food on their dash you’re just making it harder for them to restrain from eating"
Fact: This is offensive because it says that Muslims do not have the self-control to look at food and then abstain form eating it.
Myth: " I’d just seen a couple pieces of untagged NSFW content on my dash, my fast would have been broken right now "
Fact: Your fast is not broken by viewing images- fast is broken if you act upon desires.
Also, if you read the first post, the person admits they do not know much about Ramadan- but they continue writing instead of reading. Also an important part of Ramadan is avoiding distractions-TV, music, and internet. Which means some Muslims will not be on Tumblr anyway.
For those curious about Islam and Ramadan, please follow these links:
aboutramadan.com (the best site)
10 tips for Ramadan
About.com
IslamzPeace
BONUS:
A open Q & A session about Ramadan
Ramadan Campaign Against Hunger Offers Donors The Chance To Double The Impact Of Their Sadaqah
Please, please read and listen! Come back and tell me what you learnt!
More Greaser Age, with the baddest gang in town, the Wardens.
Sigrun used to run with a bunch of other gangs, but now she’s a warden through and through; Oghren is an old biker who’s got nothing better to do; and Anders is mostly useless, but boy is he fun.
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