She wasn't just the world to him.
She was The Earth.
She was Gaia, the solid rock he stood on and knew himself from.
The place from which he prepared his battles and won countless victories.
But when the land was ripped beneath him by a quake of muddy circumstance, the untempered foundations crumbling down around him,
He faltered…for a time, before he learnt to stand alone.
Bent to swim through the oceans of his lonely recess into the clear blue of the fact,
That soon he would reach land again, not so far off.
That the shore with it's glissening remembrance would beckon him and he would finally be ready and willing to walk on the land once more,
To feel it's steady weight and knowing measure of him relfected back with, this time, a newer understanding,
A renewed reverence for flame and fire and the fight.
It was only then that he could rest, in the calming notion,
That she would always be his constant.
His Rock.
The Earth.