<333 In Optime as well

Long, steady strides took him towards the most eastern edges of his tiny world. Ever since Pripyat Soul’s rather un-triumphant return to his father and Phoenix Valley he had not dared to slip past the borders again. The guilt that he was not contributing enough, the ever widening chasm between him and the others, and the fear that he might not return if he did leave kept him glue close to home. The slate boy had been away too long and he had to make up for lost time, but even if he physically existed within the boundaries of his home he was still very much absent mentally and emotionally. Existing alongside his father was easier now; he turned a blind eye to the missing limb and simply pretended that they were both very much whole beings. He pretended that they weren’t both mourning the absence of his mother. He pretended that his heart was all in, when really he wasn’t even sure if he had any heart for anyone or anything left.

In small ways the young boy did contribute, but never overtly, never alongside the others. Leaving a pile of nails he had collected by whatever building needed reconstruction. Catching a hare and leaving it on the door of the church for his father. Whatever small acts he could muster in private he did, but whether they knew the friendly ghost was him or not he did not care. Stubborn and sorry for himself he still couldn’t bring it upon himself to mix and mingle. When he tried the anxiety was too much, it knotted his stomach and pressed hard against his lungs and the only escape was in solitude, which was how he spent most of his time.

It was this quest for solitude that sent him almost out of Phoenix Valley, right on the edge and he lingered along the border, following it south. Patrolling perhaps, Jefferson would be pleased with that, but Pripyat really had no intention of meeting and greeting strangers. And so it was when he saw her he almost turned tail and ran the other way. She perched on what he perceived to be the edge of the world, for what lay past the ocean still mystified him, but she did not immediately turn to face him. And so he stopped and took her in. Nothing about her reminded him of anyone in the pack, everything about her seemed warm against the grey of the day whereas the others all seemed so grey themselves. This was comforting and it was only her total unfamiliarity that gave him the courage to approach, slowly, brilliant eyes a start contrast from the rest of him that seemed to be melting into the oncoming evening. “Hey.” Gentle and barely there, he waited for her to turn away from the ocean and prayed that she still seemed foreign when he saw her face.

No worries! Totally worth the wait!

She turned to face him and the Soul youngster widened his eyes in the fading light, trying to take in all the details that now presented themselves before him. Everything about the girl seemed gentle, almost transparent in nature, and Pripyat moved not an inch as they took each other in, wondering if perhaps she was merely an image conjured up by his lonely brain. Her eyes dripped warm honey, and they refused to meet his straight on for more than what he perceived to be a short moment. Where they fell just above his collar bone, a strange but pleasant warmth caught fire there, and if not for the fear that any small movement might chase this ghost away he would have shifted uncomfortably just then.

Silence seemed to envelope them and the slate boy feared that his breathing, which bounced from one side of his skull to the other side of his skull almost as loudly as his heartbeat seemed to, was audible to the creature before him. Why did he think of that now? When had his breathing ever been a concern before? And yet she gave no indication that she heard either bodily function from him, and for all that any on looker might have guessed they two of them could have been statues, put up by ancient gods to watch over the shorelines.

Finally one of them found words again, although the hesitant tones seemed to be filtered by the breaking waves on the sands, and still Pripyat feared that what seemed to real now might not be more than his imagination at work. Yet the warm woman stood, and with such a movement her feet sunk into the soft and pliable sand as any creature holding a significant amount of weight would. With such a natural displacement of sand the downhearted boy was convinced, and whatever had held him frozen so solid was suddenly released.

The girl spoke again, this time offering up a name, and Pripyat wasn't sure if it was the syllables she spoke or the resounding way she spoke them that he enjoyed more. It was perhaps this puzzlement that caused him to forget himself just then, for when she requested his presence next to her it seemed the most natural thing in the world. And the only logical response was to comply, which was what he did. Without taking his eyes from her, the boy moved forward until only a few inches of space separated them, and he settled in.

"Pripyat Soul." He swallowed down some uncertainty, his tongue sliding along the sides of his teeth, searching for words he had perhaps stored there. For a long moment none came, but eventually the youth remembered himself, remembered Phoenix Valley, which despite it's overwhelmingly close location, had been forgotten. "This is Phoenix Valley… " But this wasn't really Phoenix Valley. This was limbo, between the Valley and everything else. Between reality and whatever dream the rolling evening and storm clouds had cast over the sea side.

In time Prip became aware of moisture upon his coat, and turning sky eyes to heavens that did not match just then, blinked as the first of many droplets landed upon his closed lids. Giving a slight shake, as if to say It's only rain, we can still sit here, he turned to her, knowing that he should question her as any other Valley member might, but unsure if he the universe would grant him that right or ability. When he found his voice it did not hold authority, did not question as if it demanded answers, but merely conveyed a childlike curiosity, one that had been missing for too long. "What are you doing here?" And he shook his pelt again, warding off the rain drops, as if to say we can sit here forever, if you'd like.

<333

Her last name rang as clearly as her first name, like the sound of bells springing from her lips. Pripyat was glad to know her full name, but why this was so he wasn't sure. What did a name matter, besides a title to direct at someone? Yet now he had more to direct to her, to memorize along with her face and her outline against the dark sky and sea. As the girl reshifted herself Pripyat was intensely aware of her presence, and when her fingers fell upon his it was like a spark of lightning, an unfamiliar but not wholly unpleasant feeling. The warmth left by the tiny touch lingered long after Arye had pulled back her hand and for as long as it lasted Pripyat focused on that feeling, wishing that the girl hadn't been so quick to pull her long fingers from his.

The answer to his question came, but not in the way he had thought. Arye did not explain how she had wound up on his shores, like some mermaid washed up out of the sea and stranded on sand. Yet her answer was not incorrect, and it rather pleased him she answered for only her actions in the present. Really, what was the past or future compared to the present? The was only one reality and it was the one they were living now, and suddenly Pripyat realized he didn't care where she had come from exactly, as long as she was here now. "Reading, aye?"

His eyes moved towards the book she indicated, and like she it seemed so natural and normal that day. Worn and well used, as if all its previous owners had made good use of it, as Arye did now. "I can read a little." His father read a lot and as a child Pripyat had fingered through the many books Jefferson owned. When there was time and they were together sometimes his mother or father would teach him words, or at least how to sound them out. After that it came easier, breaking up the longer words and sounding them out. The code was cracked easily enough and yet so rarely did he make use of this skill. Perhaps it was simply because it reminded him so much of Jefferson rocking in his chair, book in hand. Or of his mother, sprawled out on the floor, journal close at hand.

His ears perked at her next words, asking to know what the Valley was like. Pripyat closed his brilliant eyes, trying to picture how his home, all he had ever known, would appear to a stranger. The picture that came to him wasn't right and then he imagined all he had loved about it when he was a child, and all his mother and father loved about it. "It's safe and calm. We take care of one another here. And it's green… everything is so green." For a moment he thought of Halifax, the place he spent most him time when outside of his pack. Compared to the concrete jungle Phoenix Valley was almost too green.

When her fingers flexed and he felt the tips touch his it caused a chain reaction in his body. First his breath came in sharply, which then set his heart hammering too loudly once again. Then it was her words that made the rush of adrenaline flood his system, as he tried to comprehend what she meant by then. "You'll stay here, " and suddenly everything rested on this. Pripyat was afraid to see her go, she had to stay, at least for a while, he couldn't encourage her departure. And yet he was also afraid to scare her off, "I mean, at least for tonight, right?"