Much thanks to my reviewers, all two of you. You have a special place in my
heart. And on that bitter note, here's chapter two.
She was rocking, back and forth, back and forth. All around her smelled like wood, like Grandma's cradle perhaps? Yes, that was it, Grandma's old wooden cradle that rocked her back and forth when she was small. And there was a sound, a noise of some sort. Music? More like humming, like someone was whistling over the lip of an empty milk bottle. She felt a breeze rush over her face, and heard the slightest sound under the humming, like her yellowed curtains in a rainstorm. Her yellowed curtains, her cradle, the humming, her mother's face coming into view, smiling and gentle, the way Anne always remembered her. Mother was humming now, humming through her smile to put her baby girl to bed. The smile seemed to light up into her eyes, those big yellow eyes. yellow? Her mother didn't have yellow eyes. Yellow eyes with green specs.
A quick flash of light split through the room and her mother's face. Anne bolted upright to see her dream quickly fading into a seascape. Dark black waves rolled all around her, the white foam breaking irregularly on the harsh looking water. She peered over the edge of the boat into the dark water and. boat? Her eyes widened as she realized she was in a boat, a small wooden sailboat to be precise, and was calmly riding over the rough waves to what looked like nowhere. The dark and stormy sky overhead and the pitch colored water beneath her made it impossible to see anything in any direction. She heard a gentle flapping behind her and turned to see a large white sail rigged above her, the giant white canvas dancing in the wild winds. She caught sight of ropes, like long brown snakes, twining away from the mast and leaving the sail to fly away into the surrounding oblivion. She carefully started crawling towards the mast, the sea spray blinding her as she moved. The boat rocked gently, undulating with the rocky seas it rested on, adding to Anne's difficulty in getting to the shedding pole.
A large wave mounted its assault on the small vessel, and Anne caught sight of it just as it smashed into the side of the boat sending bitter salt water flying at her, drenching her already shivering form and all but smashing her against the side. The boat rocked, dangerously veering towards capsizing, but it righted itself again in the tumultuous waves. Anne righted herself as well and resumed her crawl, her limbs aching and cold. She stared up at the mast, her eyes trying to focus on the wildly flying ropes, trying to figure out exactly how she was going to reattach the sail, seeing as she had never even been on a boat before, let alone rigged one.
Another wave rolled the boat to its side, hard enough only to stop Anne's progression and to swing the mast on its loosening axis, revealing a figure clinging to the pole busily working with the ropes. His legs were wrapped around the thick wooden column. Anne could see, even through the spray and the dark, the thick tendons and muscles that strained underneath the drenched pants. His arms, equal in build to his legs, grabbed frantically through the air for the ropes, pulling them into large knots around the rigs. The sail began to calm in the tempest as it got tied down. In absence of the sail masking him, Anne could see his upper torso, his arms working diligently with the ropes while his tongue steadied him.
Anne blinked through the salt water that was obviously clouding her vision. She looked again, and let her jaw go slack, taking in sea water, as she stared in disbelief. His mouth was open as well, a long greenish grey tongue lashed around the mast like another piece of rope. Anne couldn't move. She didn't know whether to be repulsed or intrigued by his prehensile oral attachment, and found herself caught in the middle of both emotions, leaving her in a stunned silence as she watched him work.
His movements were jerky, but they had their grace to them. She remembered how he had moved in the garden that morning. was it that morning? How long had she been out? She hadn't a clue. She didn't know how she'd gotten onto a boat, where she was being taken, or even who was taking her, but all of that seemed of little importance in the wake of watching him.
A few flashes of lightening streaked across the sky, illuminating the tongue-harnessed man for a few seconds at a time. His skin seemed sallow, tinted with green. His hair was dark, the color of seaweed and spinach, and was now plastered around his forehead and neck. His face was sleek with saltwater and concentration, those yellow eyes focused intently on the mast and the newly secured ropes.
He let his tongue unwrap itself from the mast and loll back into his mouth which he then closed. He slid down the mast, unwrapping his legs soon enough to catch him before he fell. He took one last look at his handiwork, making sure the ropes would hold through the squall, before he noticed Anna staring at him. The sky was lightless now and she could barely make out his expression. She could see his eyes though, their now familiar yellow peering at her through the slackening mist.
That was when she realized her mouth was still open. She closed it and swallowed, sending a large rush of pure salt water down her throat. Her eyes widened as she began choking and sputtering, her lungs trying to force as much of the water back up as it could. Her hands clasped at her throat as she felt her legs buckle beneath her, a prickly feeling stabbing at her feet and up her legs as she began loosing oxygen. She coughed, feeling a strange heat swallow her face while the rest of her went numb with cold.
She looked upward, the sky beginning to blacken more and more with each passing second as she began passing from consciousness. She heard the whistling again, the whistle that turned into a warm, familiar hum. She saw her mother's face loom over her, shining brightly in the darkness. Anna smiled, even through the coughing and drooling, reaching up for her mother's face. She was cold to the touch, and wet, but still soft. Softer than she had remembered. Her mother reached down and touched Anne's cheek, quickly running her fingers down the girl's damp cheek. Her mother's face came closer to her own, concern streaking down her skin with the salt water. Her face got closer and closer until her lips hung a moment away from Anne's. Anne looked up at the face curiously, when a large, racking cough shook her back into semi consciousness. Salt water dribbled down her chin and she could feel what seemed like an ocean more waiting still to exhale. She looked back to her mother's face, hoping to find comfort, but instead found the strange man's face where her mother's had been. The same look of concern was on his face, his eyes darting nervously around her face.
His eyes, they weren't yellow anymore, but grey and growing black with every passing second, just as everything else was. She could feel her eyelids flutter as her eyes rolled back into her head, the water pressing in on her lungs quickly. She felt as though she was drowning. Everything she could feel was water, liquid washing over her, over her arms and legs and her mouth. But her mouth was warm and soft and breathing. She felt air, cool and painful, cutting into her throat, pushing against the water. Her eyes drowsed open yet again as she found him hovering over her again, his lips pressed desperately against hers. Panic and confusion hit her for only a moment before her lungs began forcing the water out of her. The stranger backed up as she lurched forward, vomiting overboard in heaving coughs.
She felt as if she were emptying her entire stock of organs over the side of that boat, her head becoming light and dizzy with each purge. She felt something snaking its way through her hair, holding her head as her convulsions calmed. Slowly the hand trailed down her neck and rested on the small of her back, while the other hand gently guided her head away from the sideboard, helping her to lean against the boat.
She closed her eyes and breathed, the biting cold air cutting her scratchy throat. She could feel him looking at her, that look of concern still washed across his features. His sallow, clumsy features. She opened her eyes, tears lining her vision, and stared at him, her face blank and drawn. He stared back at her, not moving, not even breathing from the looks of it. Something in his faced had changed, however. The compassion had melted away, replaced with something else she couldn't tell. Anger, perhaps, or distrust. It burned in his eyes like a sulfur fire, smoldering quietly.
"Are you alright?" he asked quietly, his voice laced with disinterest.
"Yes," she whispered her voice hoarse. "Thank you." He nodded and stood up, starting off for the front of the boat. She called out to him, or at least called out as much as she could. "Wait!" he stopped and threw his gaze over his shoulder, barely looking at her. "I just wanted to. to thank you. For everything." She finished, mentally kicking herself for having spoken at all. She must've sounded like the poster child for every mental illness out there. He didn't seem to notice. He turned to face her, his thick arms crossed over what she realized was a broad chest.
"What everything?" he asked. She couldn't tell if he was genuinely interested in the answer, or merely waiting to prove her as something less than coherent, which at this point wouldn't have been too difficult.
"I realized I'm being kidnapped, and probably on account of my Uncle," she began, "I'm not totally daft." She added, prepping herself for any verbal matches that would follow. "However, I'm well aware that you didn't have to knock me out so. gently," the word suddenly sounded too sensuous for her. She felt her cheeks roar into a blush, the memory or his fingers on her all too vivid. "And that you didn't have to take care of me the way you did just now. And I wanted to thank you for that." She finished, her voice hanging in the quickly stilling air. He just stared at her for a moment, his face calm with. something that wasn't angry or hurtful. He nodded at her then quickly turned for the helm.
"We should be there soon," he called out to her.
"Where?" she asked, slowly getting up, her legs still shaky, and making her way towards him.
"Home."
She was rocking, back and forth, back and forth. All around her smelled like wood, like Grandma's cradle perhaps? Yes, that was it, Grandma's old wooden cradle that rocked her back and forth when she was small. And there was a sound, a noise of some sort. Music? More like humming, like someone was whistling over the lip of an empty milk bottle. She felt a breeze rush over her face, and heard the slightest sound under the humming, like her yellowed curtains in a rainstorm. Her yellowed curtains, her cradle, the humming, her mother's face coming into view, smiling and gentle, the way Anne always remembered her. Mother was humming now, humming through her smile to put her baby girl to bed. The smile seemed to light up into her eyes, those big yellow eyes. yellow? Her mother didn't have yellow eyes. Yellow eyes with green specs.
A quick flash of light split through the room and her mother's face. Anne bolted upright to see her dream quickly fading into a seascape. Dark black waves rolled all around her, the white foam breaking irregularly on the harsh looking water. She peered over the edge of the boat into the dark water and. boat? Her eyes widened as she realized she was in a boat, a small wooden sailboat to be precise, and was calmly riding over the rough waves to what looked like nowhere. The dark and stormy sky overhead and the pitch colored water beneath her made it impossible to see anything in any direction. She heard a gentle flapping behind her and turned to see a large white sail rigged above her, the giant white canvas dancing in the wild winds. She caught sight of ropes, like long brown snakes, twining away from the mast and leaving the sail to fly away into the surrounding oblivion. She carefully started crawling towards the mast, the sea spray blinding her as she moved. The boat rocked gently, undulating with the rocky seas it rested on, adding to Anne's difficulty in getting to the shedding pole.
A large wave mounted its assault on the small vessel, and Anne caught sight of it just as it smashed into the side of the boat sending bitter salt water flying at her, drenching her already shivering form and all but smashing her against the side. The boat rocked, dangerously veering towards capsizing, but it righted itself again in the tumultuous waves. Anne righted herself as well and resumed her crawl, her limbs aching and cold. She stared up at the mast, her eyes trying to focus on the wildly flying ropes, trying to figure out exactly how she was going to reattach the sail, seeing as she had never even been on a boat before, let alone rigged one.
Another wave rolled the boat to its side, hard enough only to stop Anne's progression and to swing the mast on its loosening axis, revealing a figure clinging to the pole busily working with the ropes. His legs were wrapped around the thick wooden column. Anne could see, even through the spray and the dark, the thick tendons and muscles that strained underneath the drenched pants. His arms, equal in build to his legs, grabbed frantically through the air for the ropes, pulling them into large knots around the rigs. The sail began to calm in the tempest as it got tied down. In absence of the sail masking him, Anne could see his upper torso, his arms working diligently with the ropes while his tongue steadied him.
Anne blinked through the salt water that was obviously clouding her vision. She looked again, and let her jaw go slack, taking in sea water, as she stared in disbelief. His mouth was open as well, a long greenish grey tongue lashed around the mast like another piece of rope. Anne couldn't move. She didn't know whether to be repulsed or intrigued by his prehensile oral attachment, and found herself caught in the middle of both emotions, leaving her in a stunned silence as she watched him work.
His movements were jerky, but they had their grace to them. She remembered how he had moved in the garden that morning. was it that morning? How long had she been out? She hadn't a clue. She didn't know how she'd gotten onto a boat, where she was being taken, or even who was taking her, but all of that seemed of little importance in the wake of watching him.
A few flashes of lightening streaked across the sky, illuminating the tongue-harnessed man for a few seconds at a time. His skin seemed sallow, tinted with green. His hair was dark, the color of seaweed and spinach, and was now plastered around his forehead and neck. His face was sleek with saltwater and concentration, those yellow eyes focused intently on the mast and the newly secured ropes.
He let his tongue unwrap itself from the mast and loll back into his mouth which he then closed. He slid down the mast, unwrapping his legs soon enough to catch him before he fell. He took one last look at his handiwork, making sure the ropes would hold through the squall, before he noticed Anna staring at him. The sky was lightless now and she could barely make out his expression. She could see his eyes though, their now familiar yellow peering at her through the slackening mist.
That was when she realized her mouth was still open. She closed it and swallowed, sending a large rush of pure salt water down her throat. Her eyes widened as she began choking and sputtering, her lungs trying to force as much of the water back up as it could. Her hands clasped at her throat as she felt her legs buckle beneath her, a prickly feeling stabbing at her feet and up her legs as she began loosing oxygen. She coughed, feeling a strange heat swallow her face while the rest of her went numb with cold.
She looked upward, the sky beginning to blacken more and more with each passing second as she began passing from consciousness. She heard the whistling again, the whistle that turned into a warm, familiar hum. She saw her mother's face loom over her, shining brightly in the darkness. Anna smiled, even through the coughing and drooling, reaching up for her mother's face. She was cold to the touch, and wet, but still soft. Softer than she had remembered. Her mother reached down and touched Anne's cheek, quickly running her fingers down the girl's damp cheek. Her mother's face came closer to her own, concern streaking down her skin with the salt water. Her face got closer and closer until her lips hung a moment away from Anne's. Anne looked up at the face curiously, when a large, racking cough shook her back into semi consciousness. Salt water dribbled down her chin and she could feel what seemed like an ocean more waiting still to exhale. She looked back to her mother's face, hoping to find comfort, but instead found the strange man's face where her mother's had been. The same look of concern was on his face, his eyes darting nervously around her face.
His eyes, they weren't yellow anymore, but grey and growing black with every passing second, just as everything else was. She could feel her eyelids flutter as her eyes rolled back into her head, the water pressing in on her lungs quickly. She felt as though she was drowning. Everything she could feel was water, liquid washing over her, over her arms and legs and her mouth. But her mouth was warm and soft and breathing. She felt air, cool and painful, cutting into her throat, pushing against the water. Her eyes drowsed open yet again as she found him hovering over her again, his lips pressed desperately against hers. Panic and confusion hit her for only a moment before her lungs began forcing the water out of her. The stranger backed up as she lurched forward, vomiting overboard in heaving coughs.
She felt as if she were emptying her entire stock of organs over the side of that boat, her head becoming light and dizzy with each purge. She felt something snaking its way through her hair, holding her head as her convulsions calmed. Slowly the hand trailed down her neck and rested on the small of her back, while the other hand gently guided her head away from the sideboard, helping her to lean against the boat.
She closed her eyes and breathed, the biting cold air cutting her scratchy throat. She could feel him looking at her, that look of concern still washed across his features. His sallow, clumsy features. She opened her eyes, tears lining her vision, and stared at him, her face blank and drawn. He stared back at her, not moving, not even breathing from the looks of it. Something in his faced had changed, however. The compassion had melted away, replaced with something else she couldn't tell. Anger, perhaps, or distrust. It burned in his eyes like a sulfur fire, smoldering quietly.
"Are you alright?" he asked quietly, his voice laced with disinterest.
"Yes," she whispered her voice hoarse. "Thank you." He nodded and stood up, starting off for the front of the boat. She called out to him, or at least called out as much as she could. "Wait!" he stopped and threw his gaze over his shoulder, barely looking at her. "I just wanted to. to thank you. For everything." She finished, mentally kicking herself for having spoken at all. She must've sounded like the poster child for every mental illness out there. He didn't seem to notice. He turned to face her, his thick arms crossed over what she realized was a broad chest.
"What everything?" he asked. She couldn't tell if he was genuinely interested in the answer, or merely waiting to prove her as something less than coherent, which at this point wouldn't have been too difficult.
"I realized I'm being kidnapped, and probably on account of my Uncle," she began, "I'm not totally daft." She added, prepping herself for any verbal matches that would follow. "However, I'm well aware that you didn't have to knock me out so. gently," the word suddenly sounded too sensuous for her. She felt her cheeks roar into a blush, the memory or his fingers on her all too vivid. "And that you didn't have to take care of me the way you did just now. And I wanted to thank you for that." She finished, her voice hanging in the quickly stilling air. He just stared at her for a moment, his face calm with. something that wasn't angry or hurtful. He nodded at her then quickly turned for the helm.
"We should be there soon," he called out to her.
"Where?" she asked, slowly getting up, her legs still shaky, and making her way towards him.
"Home."