I Am Half-Sick of Shadows
"Commander!"
God, not again. Leave me alone, let me sleep. I never asked to be an officer. Someone shook her by the shoulder, and Ashley Williams looked up through heavy-lidded eyes at the cloud-covered sky. The bright cobalt of the conduit harshly lit the swirling clouds above her. She felt very tired, her limbs heavy with fatigue. Her eyes fluttered, trying desperately to shut out the nightmare images around her, trying to ignore the insistent voice attempting to pull her back into its terrible dream.
"Commander," yelled the voice. Her eyes opened, and she found herself staring into the wide-eyed face of some Alliance private. What was his name?
The private looked back over his shoulder and shouted at someone Ashley couldn't see. "She's not moving, sir!" The private's words were underscored by continuous firing; she had difficulty distinguishing the screams of the wounded and dying from the shrieks of the husks that were swarming all across London. For an instant, they seemed to be many mouths voicing a single thought: the pain and suffering of an entire species. What would it be like, she wondered, to become a husk? A single sharp pain followed by eternal numbness? Or would it be unending pain, until some passing bullet relieved you of the burden of living – if you could call that living.
A different voice intruded on her thoughts.
"Ashley! Dammit, Williams, get up! We've lost Shepard and Anderson, and Hammer's being torn apart. We've got to move!" The harsh voice was connected to a blue-tattooed face that she knew well. She felt Garrus' hand grasp her own and pull her up. Groaning, she slowly stood until a sharp pain in her thigh reminded her why she had been lying on the ground. She gasped and fell back briefly, clasping a hand to the bullet wound.
"C'mon, Williams, we need to get under cover. Then we can patch you up." Garrus slipped his shoulder under her arm, and half walked, half dragged her to where Vega was sheltered behind a large slab of broken concrete. Garrus let her down as easily as he could, but Ashley still winced as a jolt of pain shot through her leg. Vega let off a staccato of fire from his weapon, and ducked down as a barrage of metal slivers sliced the air he had just occupied. The marine peeked over the edge, and sent a few more rounds back towards the offending marauders.
Garrus glanced up before returning his attention to Ashley's leg. "EDI! Cover our left; they're making a push." He looked darkly at the jagged hole in Ashley's blue armor, and the wound inside. Their eyes met as he looked up. "Ashley, the bullet passed through, but a piece of your armor fractured and it's stuck inside the wound; I can't use the medigel until I remove it. Do you understand?" He pulled forceps from the aid kit strapped to his hip and held them by the wound. Ashley bit her lip, and nodded. Garrus detached the linkages on the thigh plate of her armor, and pulled it off. The wound itself was not immediately dangerous, but the sharp polymer could cause serious damage if it was left inside the flesh. He made one final inspection of the wound, and then reached in with the forceps, trying to grasp the jagged fragment of polymer. Ashley gasped from the pain as he felt around in the wound, but suddenly the forceps made contact with the shard. Opening the tongs, he grasped the broken piece of armor with the forceps and looked up to meet Ashley's eyes. She nodded in understanding. Garrus braced himself, and carefully pulled the fragment from the wound. Ashley drew in a deep breath, and then it was over. But the obstruction was free, and the wound was clean. Garrus pushed a few buttons on his omnitool, and Ashley felt the medigel dispensers release the healing agent, numbing the pain. After making one final inspection of the wound, Garrus replaced the damaged armor plate over her thigh and handed her a weapon. A harvester screamed by above them, pursued by a pair of alliance fighters.
"Vakarian! We gotta move!"
Vega was right. Ashley could hear the husks coming, and a quick glance assured her that there were far too many for their small team to resist.
"Garrus, look!" The turian followed Tali's pointing finger and looked up into the sky. Orange light was spreading out from a point above them. All across the city, the firing ceased as soldiers stared up in wonder. The light washed across the reapers, and then, they were simply gone. Husks, banshees, cannibals, even the reapers themselves, simply dissolved and were blown away, as so much dust.
"Shepard," breathed the turian. Somehow, against all odds, Shepard had saved them all once again.
"Vakarian, this is Hackett." The admiral's voice burst in through Garrus' comm unit.
"Yes, admiral?"
"We've made contact with Shepard. He's on the Citadel, but it sounds bad. We're sending a shuttle to pick you up. Get there ASAP."
The team warily picked their way through the rubble of London. It was hard to believe that the battle was over, but Garrus was determined not to lose anyone else now that they seemed so close to final victory. His thoughts turned to Shepard, and the one death he might not be able to prevent; that thought haunted him more than anything else.
By his reckoning, and the map on his omnitool, they were getting close. Garrus opened up his radio to try and make contact with the shuttle crew.
"Dustoff Three-Five, this is Hammer One-Six, we're approaching your position from the east, over."
"Solid copy, One-Six. We'll keep an eye open."
"Roger that. One-Six out."
It was only a few minutes' walk to the extraction point, little more than a road intersection that was marginally clearer than its neighbors. The alliance shuttle was hovering above the ground, its door gunners alert and jittery. Garrus couldn't really blame them.
The team crowded into the cramped confines of the Kodiak as the shuttle's crew made room for them. It was silent in the compartment as everyone wrestled with their thoughts; Hackett's news had shocked them all. The fact that no further communication with Shepard had been possible was even more disturbing. Garrus didn't like to think about what that might mean.
He looked around, examining each of their faces, remembering all the things they had gone through together, bound inexorably by Shepard's force of personality. Liara was frozen in her seat, staring sightlessly at the shuttle door; Tali was next to her, shifting against the shuttle's webbing, and glancing worriedly at the asari. The others sat silently, exchanging occasional significant looks.
Radio chatter streamed in from the cockpit. Their fighter escort was staying tight, weaving their way between the orbiting wreckage of destroyed vessels. It felt like an eternity before they landed on the Citadel. The team piled out and were met by a battered looking turian C-Sec officer.
As Garrus walked forward to greet the officer, he felt a slim hand slip its way around his arm, grabbing and turning him. It was Liara.
"Garrus, Shepard won't be here. There has to be some kind of control room; that's where we need to be."
"I know, Liara." Garrus' voice was taut, on the verge of breaking.
Exasperated, Liara shook his arm. "Then why are we here? We need to get to Shepard now!"
Garrus sighed deeply and turned to fully face her. He placed his own hand on her shoulder, and looked her directly in the eyes, speaking slowly and deliberately. "We don't know where he is, Liara. But maybe C-Sec does."
"He could be dying, Garrus! We have to find him now!"
"Do you think I don't know that? He's my best friend, Liara!"
The C-Sec officer had been standing at a respectful distance, and once a pause had occurred in the conversation he approached. "Sir. Ma'am. We've been able to triangulate the radio signal we received some time ago. We know approximately where to go to find the Commander." He paused briefly. "If you'll follow me?"
The citadel looked bad; even the damage caused by Sovereign hadn't been this severe. Garrus could see fires burning everywhere, and great blocks of the cities were ablaze. The turian officer had led them to a provisional muster point, where three C-Sec Special Response transports were waiting. On the landing pad, Garrus had been surprised to see heavily armed SR troopers loading into the transports. When Garrus had questioned him, the C-Sec officer had explained that although reaper forces had been neutralized, Cerberus had made an incursion onto the Citadel prior to the reaper's assault. There was still sporadic fighting occurring at strategic points around the station, and it was believed they were trying to make it to the position where Shepard's last radio transmission originated.
Garrus was surprised by the news, and even though he was sure he and the team could handle a few Cerberus troopers, he had learned never to refuse back-up. In his time at C-Sec, he had never worked closely with any of the Special Response units, but from what he could see now – even after the battering they had assuredly taken – they were consummately professional. He was relieved to have them along.
Once the troopers had quickly loaded all their gear onto the transports, they and the team departed, heading low over the rooftops. The flight was short, and they landed far more quickly than Garrus expected. Most of the SR troopers set up security around their landing site while a small team hauled a large cutting torch from the back of a vehicle.
The C-Sec officer explained. "According to our scans, this bulkhead covers a long tunnel that should lead us to Shepard's location. If we can cut through it, that should give us access."
Despite the thickness of the bulkhead, the cutting team managed to create a breach in less than a minute. Garrus and the team burst through, weapons raised. Immediately, they recoiled from a putrid stench that permeated the tunnel. As their eyes adapted to the low red lighting, they saw that the tunnel was filled with bodies; dead of all races were strewn about senselessly.
They pushed on through the noisome miasma, and eventually reached the foot of a tall ramp. At the top was where Shepard's last transmission had been sent.
The team rushed up the ramp and found themselves in a wide circular room looking out over the blue Earth. Garrus saw one body sprawled out on the floor, and another two leaned against a raised section of the floor, silhouetted against the cloudy Earth behind them. Everything was very still, and Garrus would carry the memory of that moment to the end of his days.
A wet, hacking cough echoed through the room as one of the seated forms doubled up in pain.
Garrus found himself halfway across the room before he realized he had begun to move; the others were right on his heels. The seated figure bunched up, and gave a wet, rattling cough. Garrus knew that was a bad sign, no matter what species you were. He crouched down and put his hand on the figure's shoulder, tilting the man's head back to see who it was. There could be no mistake, it was Shepard, and the man next to him was Anderson. Shepard looked bad; he was covered in blood and bruises, much of his armor was melted off, and his skin had split in long seams to show the Cerberus cybernetics underneath.
"Shepard?" he asked, tension heightening his words.
Shepard's head lolled as he struggled to raise it. Garrus found himself looking into the eyes of a ghost. The face was gaunt, and his eyes seemed lost; they were unfocused, and stared past Garrus through the windows to the immutable image of Earth. Then, after a heart-breaking moment, the eyes focused, and met Garrus' gaze.
"Garrus? What're you doing here?" Shepard bent over in a coughing fit, and Garrus saw blood fleck his lips.
"You did it, Shepard – the reapers are gone. It's time to get you out of here: it's time to go home, to Earth."
Shepard shook his head weakly, and his words began to slur together. "No. 'S too late for me, Garrus." He gave a wet chuckle. "Third time's the charm, huh? One too many suicide missions for me, I'm afraid." There was a short pause. "I'll meet you at the bar, okay?"
Garrus looked away, and his voice croaked when he spoke. "Sure thing, Shepard."
Shepard shook his head from side to side, and laughed weakly, "No one ever… You can call me by my first name, Garrus." An impish smile creased his face, "I won't tell anyone."
His eyes glazed a little, and Garrus could tell he was slipping. Shepard's hand sought out Garrus' and held it in an iron grip. Though Shepard's gaze was unfocused, his voice was suddenly stronger. "They're in your hands now, Garrus; take care of them – all of them." With that, the strength left him, and his arm fell limply to the ground.
"Is Liara here?"
There was a sniff as Liara wiped her eyes free of tears. She crossed over from where she had been standing with the others and knelt down next to him. "Yes, Shepard, I'm here." Garrus moved over next to Tali and put his arm around her, hugging her close.
Shepard pressed his palm against Liara's cheek, cradling it. His hand drifted across her blue skin, leaving behind thin trails of blood and grime.
"I'm sorry, Liara. I can't come back this time."
She sobbed. "No, Shepard, please don't leave me – please!" In desperation, she turned to Garrus, her eyes pleading. But the turian could only shake his head; there was nothing they could do.
"Shh. You'll be okay, Liara." His gaze sharpened, and he stared into her deep blue eyes. His fingertips brushed lightly across her lips. "I love you."
"And I love you." Her voice was barely a whisper.
Shepard breathed out one last time, and then was still. Liara wrapped her arms around his broken body and held him against her. All else was silence throughout the room as she rocked back and forth.
"You can't leave. You promised."
"You promised."
The Alliance flag fluttered as a light breeze passed through the open field. It was such a simple thing, silver on a blue field. Liara knew there was a power in such symbols, and in what they represented. She remembered how she had felt watching Thessia fall, and wondered how hard it had hit Shepard. Looking back, she was ashamed to remember her own reaction, and how she had forgotten that she was not the only one to have witnessed the fall of a homeworld.
Several months had passed since the battle for Earth, and already the galaxy was showing signs of recovery. The citadel had been returned to its former location, and those races to have escaped the worst of the reapers' attacks were stepping up to help those who had taken the brunt of the damage. Despite her own misgivings about them, Liara could not but agree that the Council was proving vital to their efforts to restore the galaxy to some semblance of normalcy. Trade was picking up, shattered economies were being put right, and refugees could finally begin to return home.
Several weeks ago, she had received a message from Admiral Hackett informing her of a memorial service for Shepard. After returning to Thessia, Liara had buried herself in work, using what remained of her network to aid in reconstruction efforts. The message had been an unpleasant reminder of all she had lost, and it was with some reluctance that she had agreed to attend. In the end, she was glad she had. All of Shepard's former crew were there, some she knew personally, while others she had only heard about. Unconciously, they had sought each other out, finding solace in their shared loss; and with each new meeting, they learned more about the man they had all come to rely on so much, as if Shepard had imparted some small piece of himself in each of them, and by coming together they could understand him better.
As a group, they stood apart. Many others were there, all seeking to pay their respects to the man who was a legend. Few approached them; Shepard's mystique surrounded them and shielded them from all but the most prying and inquisitive. A small stage had been erected, and to the side of it stood eight Alliance soldiers holding human weapons Liara had never seen before. She prodded Garrus, and gestured wordlessly towards the soldiers.
Garrus nodded, immediately understanding her unspoken question. "I asked Shepard the same thing, once, and he told me that those soldiers are called an honor guard. At the end, they'll fire their weapons in his memory." Garrus shrugged slightly. "It's a gesture of respect."
Liara saw Admiral Hackett detach himself from a group of other Alliance officers and approach the podium that had been placed on the stage. As the grizzled admiral mounted the steps, a hush fell over the murmuring crowd as everyone present turned to give him their attention. Hackett reached the podium and paused, looking out over the assembly and beyond to the swaying trees and the distant horizon. After a brief moment, he began.
"Today we pay our respects to Commander John Shepard. It's no secret that Commander Shepard played an integral part in the fight against the reapers; indeed, without his actions over the last three years, none of us would be here today. He was a leader, a man of honor and integrity, and it was my privilege to know and work with him. When I first met Commander Shepard, I had only heard of his actions on Elysium, and the bravery and fortitude he had exhibited. To hear the stories tell it, the Commander was a killing machine eight feet tall, who could outfight anything alive. In reality, he was not an imposing man. He was soft-spoken, calm and collected, not at all what I had pictured. But from those brief moments we shared, even then, I could sense a deep well of strength and courage, and an indomitable will. It seems the fate of great men to die without witnessing the completion of their labors. However, that should not diminish the reality of what he accomplished. In death, he has proved that we can all work together towards a better, stronger galaxy. And for that we owe him a great debt, one we can never repay. It is difficult to honor such a man, for what deed of ours can signify all that we owe? No statue could capture his spirit, his drive; no symbol of any kind could convey our gratitude. Shepard was a spacer, born and raised in the cold, harsh environment of starships. But every time I spoke with him, I could feel a deep longing and a great love for our beautiful blue world. In recognition of this, we have decided that this field, and the area surrounding it, will be a pristine reserve, so that at least in this, Commander Shepard may forever rest in the world he loved so well."
Liara could feel the tears run down her cheeks as she turned away and buried her face into Garrus' shoulder. The others, each mourning in their own way, gathered around her, comforting and shielding her from the eyes of the onlookers.
Admiral Hackett fell silent and nodded to the sergeant commanding the honor guard. The crisp, barked commands rang out across the field as the soldiers took up their positions and raised their antique rifles.
As the last reports still echoed in their ears, Shepard's crew slowly departed, fading silently into the surrounding forest. Few would ever return.
Across every world, and in every imagination, there was an unceasing fascination with Commander Shepard and those who had accompanied him. Hundreds of vids, articles, and documentaries flooded the extranet, seeking to understand his legend, and the part that his comrades had played.
After assisting with the initial recovery of Thessia, Justicar Samara disappeared into the fringes of asari space, and was never heard from again. Some legends persist in provincial asari folklore of a vengeful justicar, bent on the destruction of all rogue Ardat-Yakshi, but whether these can be specifically attributed to Samara herself is doubtful.
Using the remnants of her Shadow Broker network, Liara T'soni was a major asset in the galaxy's recovery operations. Based on Thessia, she gave vital flexibility and information to the Council and their governments. Little is known of her personal life following the Reaper War, but her only known associates during that time were her former crewmates. More than a century later, she was the last living member of the SSV Normandy'soriginal crew. When a catastrophic accident destroyed the building she was working in, she was feared dead. Though her body was never found, the Shadow Broker reportedly continued operations. Whether this is evidence of her survival, or merely a takeover by another information broker is unknown.
Ashley Williams lived to reach the rank of general, and privately credited Shepard's influence for the breaking of the "Williams Curse." She remained a strong proponent of Alliance sovereignty, but simultaneously supported greater human involvement and cooperation in Council affairs. Her association with Shepard, and her own strong convictions, gave her voice great weight, and much of Alliance foreign policy was determined by her influence.
Fearful of government response to an unshackled AI, EDI and Jeff "Joker" Moreau quietly slipped out of the public eye, and vanished to all but their closest friends. Their eventual fate is unknown, although some suspect them of retiring to Rannoch in the company of their friends Tali'Zorah and Garrus Vakarian. The SSV Normandy continued to serve in the Alliance Navy, and remained an illustrious vessel, but she was never able to reach the levels of performance she had exhibited during the Reaper War and under Shepard's command.
Javik returned with Liara T'soni to Thessia, and several years later they completed their book "Journeys with the Prothean." Although a popular bestseller at the time, it later proved to be an invaluable contribution to the study of prothean history and culture. Enigmatic at best, the last prothean spent his time in the company of his fellow crewmates until finally disappearing beyond the Perseus Veil.
James Vega graduated the N7 program and continued a successful career in the Alliance military. He eventually formalized and instituted a special forces program unified across all races, under Council jurisdiction. These teams were inspired by the ad-hoc formations created during the Reaper War, and their legacy continues to influence military decision-making across all of Council Space.
After several years spent assisting the Alliance military in their reconstruction efforts, Zaeed Massani established a survival course aimed at training military personnel to stay alive in the harshest of environments. Known for regaling his students with accounts of his past exploits, these stories were often referred to by alumni as "motivation," given Massani's ability to survive incredible odds. Even today, many years after his death, the school is among the most well regarded in the entire Alliance, and foreign services frequently send their own officers there for training; competition for the limited number of slots is fierce.
Nothing is known of the thief Kasumi Goto. After playing a vital role in the Crucible project, she vanishes from all known records. Occasional tips on strategic resource caches or abandoned Cerberus facilities can be weakly traced to a single individual, but it is uncertain whether or not this was Kasumi Goto.
Tali'zorah vas Normandy soon returned to Rannoch, and played an important role in ensuring the smooth relations between the geth and quarians. She was joined there a few years later by her friend Garrus Vakarian, and they lived together until their deaths. Although it took several years, the assistance of the geth allowed the quarians to quickly adapt to their old environment. Officially, the Council frowns on the continued existence of an entire race of unshackled AI. But unofficially, the cooperation between the geth and quarians has removed two major problems for the Council, and although still not technically a council race, relations between the quarians and the Council remain warm.
The two ex-Cerberus operatives, Jacob Taylor and Miranda Lawson, remained on Earth to aid in its reconstruction. Although initially distrustful, Alliance command could not deny the effectiveness of the two, and they eventually occupied important positions as Alliance contractors, mostly operating in an advisory role against Cerberus holdouts or other groups that sprang up in the power vacuum following the reapers' defeat.
Urdnot Wrex and his protégé Urdnot Grunt returned to Tuchanka and continued their work towards krogan unification. The female shaman known by the human moniker "Eve" played a vital role in stabilizing the krogan, and encouraged a return to a more balanced krogan society. Although initially distrustful, most of the other races came to accept the krogan as a permanent presence in galactic politics. When Urdnot Wrex died a century later, he passed on his rulership to Urdnot Grunt, who continues his predecessor's wise policies to this day.
Jacqueline Nought, known to her former crewmates as "Jack," continued to teach at Grissom Academy, and was well known for her unorthodox, but effective, teaching techniques. Despite some concern over her style, she proved to be one of the Academy's most beloved teachers, remembered primarily for the concern and care she devoted to each of her students.
The turian, Garrus Vakarian, returned to his homeworld of Palaven, and for a few years played an extremely visible role in the reconstruction efforts. Although some wished to make him the next primarch, the movement failed – to his own apparent relief. With his duty done, he left Palaven and joined the quarian Tali'zorah vas Normandy on Rannoch, where they lived out the remainder of their days. For many years, Vakarian kept Shepard's crewmembers in touch with each other, keeping in contact and helping where he could. But the galaxy is a big place, and as the years turned into decades, it became more difficult to keep everyone together. Time did what the reapers could not, and one by one, the team passed into memory. For his own part, every year Vakarian returned to the site of Shepard's memorial on the anniversary of the reapers' defeat. He would spend a few minutes in quiet solitude, and then depart. When questioned once about his visits, Vakarian answered that he was only "looking for the bar."
John smiled up at the cloudless blue sky. The wind stirred the wheat field surrounding him, and brushed lightly against his face. The long sheaves of the golden grain swayed by his thighs, and he could hear the light rustle of the stalks as they caressed their neighbors. John lowered his gaze to the horizon and stepped lightly forward, passing his hands through the rolling waves beside him.
He could hear the waves of some distant shore, and it was the sound of yesterdays and tomorrows and everything in between. It awoke some deep longing within him, to return to that from which he had been born. Thane had talked many times about the seas on the hanar homeworld, lingering on the color of the ocean in the setting sun, and the filtering of rain through sunset-colored clouds. Thane had a poet's soul – not like John – and it shone through in those brief, thoughtful moments they had shared. Thane. What was her name, Thane? Kalahira? I would have liked to see Kahje with you, at least once. But that wish, like so many other things, had been pushed aside by the vicissitudes of life. I'm sorry, Thane; I should have made more time. I should have done so many things. And now it's too late – too late for any of us, really. John found himself walking, slowly, as if on promenade down main street on a lazy summer's day; his limbs felt light and unburdened.
The sounds of the sea began to grow louder, and John realized that he was approaching the edge of the fields. A broad dirt lane bordered the fields' edge, and meandered towards the shore. The road was dotted on either side with tall cypress trees, elegant and shapely. John luxuriated in the warm sun shining down upon him; had he always been cold, and was only now understanding what it meant to be warm? The road twisted and turned as it made its way towards the sea, but John enjoyed the slow, rural pace, and found no need to hurry towards his destination.
The road led him down to the sea, edged on either side by tenacious scrub grass. A small footpath branched off from it, and John paused, somehow reluctant to abandon his course. The track was really just a short path, leading toward the sea, leaving behind the long and winding road. He looked down the length of it, back from where he had come; it extended off into the distance, twisting and turning without beginning or end, uncaring and unconcerned with the traveler it had carried. John stepped off the road and began walking down the little path. It angled down a shallow slope, and met with a wooden walkway, raised on stilts above the sand, with ropes strung along the sides to act as railings. The wood was weather-worn, darkened by the sun and the salt air, and the slats creaked and bent beneath his weight. There was something immensely pleasing about the look of the walkway, the texture of the wood, the sounds it made.
Ahead of him was a large house, built of darkened wood. Broad white window-frames gazed back at him as he approached and grasped the door's handle. John felt as if there was something irrevocable about this moment. He looked back, remembering his journey through the fields and along the road; the cypress trees swayed in the salty wind, and John could taste the unmistakable tang of the ocean air. The handle turned, and John allowed the door to slowly swing open.
Rich wooden paneling covered the walls and floors, and John trailed his hand along the wall, feeling the knots and grain of the wood. He called out, but received no answer. The house was very large, and he followed a hallway on his right, past hanging pictures and small end tables decorated with vases. The long halls and empty rooms echoed back his steps. Unnerved, he retreated and eventually found himself at the front of the house. There, a large patio looked out over a magnificent view of the sea stretching far off across the horizon. To either side, the beach extended in rippling lines of crisp white sand. John was startled to see several figures scattered across the beach. There was something about them that seemed familiar to John, as if he was walking in a dream of yesterdays. One of the figures was close to him, kneeling in the sand; another was standing ankle-deep in the sea, as foam splashed across his feet; the other two stood together in the wet sand, as if discussing something sad and of great importance.
Over the sound of the waves, he could hear a familiar voice humming a whimsical tune, but the words were lost in the rhythmic roll of the surf. John descended the short steps from the porch to the beach, and felt the sand crunch satisfyingly beneath his feet. The voice grew louder and more confident as he approached. John felt a deep sense of belonging come over him, and a wide grin split his face as his feet unconsciously carried him towards the kneeling figure. Sensing John's approach, the figure rose and turned.
"Mordin!" John shouted, and pulled his friend into a hug. The others heard and noticed his presence and ran to join them. Grinning like an idiot, John clasped hands with each of them: Thane, Legion, Kaiden, Mordin. His friends. A feeling of pure joy welled up in him; John surrendered to it and laughed and laughed, and the sound mixed and merged with the crash of the waves, drifting up to be caught by the wind.
UH
Many thanks are owed to Atiaran who, as always, has proven an incisive and farsighted beta.