MORNN GOOD GIRL

The sun burned like wire on the ocean. Mornn’s face was hot with the melting sun, but the stars at his back chilled him to the bone. The beach ran through his fingers like sand through an hourglass. A great crumbling structure loomed behind him, deconstructed spires and marble. A temple? A monastery? A palace? He couldn’t care less. Racing towards the beach, he dove off the cliff with acrobatic ease and felt the water slipping its cold, wet fingers around him. Bubbles surged outwards. He twisted at a pain in his foot and saw little hazy curls of red spiraling from his slippers. He must have cut himself on the rocks. He swam with wide strokes to the little island he’d seen glittering like an emerald on the dull grey sea. His head broke the surface, water running from his thick red hair down his face. He shook himself, staring at the island as he bobbed with the swelling sea. There was a figure standing in the coming tide, running her fingers through the foam. He couldn’t tear his eyes away. He heard the notes of a song he once knew and he was unable to recall the name. A wave slapped him cruelly across his unsuspecting face and he slipped back beneath the water. He let it hold him for a moment, his heart slamming mercilessly against the walls of his chest. Noting the vanishing light, he began swimming parallel to the shore, then closer to the bare feet of the figure. He moved slowly, maneuvering cleverly until he was yards away, concealed by the darkness. He could feel the briny electricity of each movement of the person’s fingers as they caressed the waves. Slowly, with his fingertips perched on the wet, shifting sand, he advanced, a smile creeping about his lips. Then, with a great push, he slammed into the person’s legs, crashing them into the waves. Mornn stood quickly, stumbling back as she surfaced. Her knife cut through the water swiftly and he stopped her hand, his fingers curling around her wrist with fierce strength. She stared up at him, water streaming down her face as she blinked her slate-blue eyes quickly. They fluttered—settled on him—and narrowed. Dropping the knife indifferently, she jerked herself to her feet, pushing past him and sloshing back to the beach where her boots lay in a heap. Her hands searched through a boot and emerged with a black flask that shimmered with the last few streaks of golden light. Mornn’s voice called up quietly in the dusk. “That’s new.” She dropped onto the sand, tilting her head back and taking a deep swallow from the flask. “I hate land."

"You're certain that's all you hate?" 

"You're--"

A growl rolled across the jungle, deep and rich and mellow. She dropped her flask, meeting his eyes. Mornn’s face was split with his slow, cynical smile. 

He plucked her weapon from the ocean, running behind her as she swept up her boots and flask and ran towards the forest that fringed the beach.

She ran ahead of him, the jungle seeming to part for her in the face of her relentlessness. She moved with speed, and he with stealth, until they reached a clearing that opened into the beginning of the ruins.

“Back where I bloody started.”

"Started..." She kicked the rubble irritably. “Mornn, how did you get here?”

He turned to her, and his eye settled on the lush stripes of the tiger that crouched behind her. “Svena—“ He wrenched her back, forcing himself between her and the tiger with his gleaming knife. As the beast leapt forward, the knife split its chest and released a rumbling of pain. The tiger crumpled to the ground in a heap of orange-and-black velvet.

A great noise reverberated through the forest as seven more crept forward with silent velvet paws.

Mornn felt Svena’s slim back pressed against his and heard her knife ringing purely as she drew it from its sheath. She was breathing steadily and her stance was resolved. He matched his breath to hers and stepped forward smoothly.

He could feel himself slipping into their familiar rhythm--

how their feet struck the ground in complete harmony,

how the fire in her eyes matched the ice in his,

how her steps, so strong and quick,

matched his, so smooth and steady.

A flash of orange-and-jet-black blinded Mornn, and then all he saw was Svena, her ax embedded in his attacker and fury settled in the lines of her face. She twisted the ax from his carcass, bringing the bloodied blade into another tiger as Mornn defended her from behind. She tossed him the flask from across the clearing and he caught it easily, swigging the liquor back and the tucking it into her boot as she dive-rolled past. With one last swipe of his knife and a final swing of her ax, the beasts lay dead.

Svena met his gaze, her breathing heavy and wild. Her hair hung limply and her weapon was sheathed once more. Mornn stared at the dead tigers that carpeted the ground. “They don’t hunt in packs.” He looked up and saw her staring steadily, head tilted with an unreadable expression.

Her eyes snapped into steely focus. “Right. Because when we randomly end up on an island we should expect normal predatory cats.”

He smirked, turning and walking back towards the jungle. She followed him silently as the sun slipped below the horizon, her eyes trained on his familiar glowing fingertips.