The wild night called to him, in both forms, so it was with great surprise that he had stayed down all the way until morning. He had that semi-wakefulness when she shifted to heal him, but there was never any danger to prompt him to act. Not from her, not from this island, nor the cave. He was free to be natural, no tension, no responsibilities, no worries. A taste of an unburdened life, a taste of freedom. He allowed himself to drift, and deeply, as it seemed, to savior this unique transcendence to the simple side.
He gave an exaggerated yawn, yowling long and, as Izuna often remarked, annoyingly. He blinked his eyes slowly, the beasts sensitivity making him squint from the force of the new eastern sun. He nuzzled his companion while morning blind, inhaling from the source and taking note of her smell. Still sweeter than anything he sampled before, but noticeably subdued. He was in her debt for the care, but now, he was duty bound to assist in her recovery if her scent was linked from healing to lost vigor. He feared what more his eyes would see of her weakened state and there was a dash of guilt at that cowardice. Amplified by knowing he should have stopped her after her first healing session.
He tongued his back, and his eyes shot open, brightness be damned. The fur was fine and full and glossy black with strips of the deepest black, like a combination of dried ink and wet ink. Even the naked tail was gloriously full, if a tad fluffier than was normal. He was completely recovered. Not just impressively, no. Miraculously. Outstandingly. His energy, his vitality, all better than before the battle. Better than ever, he could feel every lingering ache, every old wound, every scar, gone, as if was never there. He looked at nothing, a far off contemplation as he absorbed himself, and mentally proclaimed 'astounding,' at every new observation of improvement.
He felt amazing, and there was his little catfish, soundly cuddling his midsection. But oh. Oh. Now that he was awake and pridefully primping his glorious self, he actively noticed what he first picked up subconsciously. The meaty fat tail under his leg was not so, not anymore. In its place was a pair of slim human legs, attached to a very naked lass. The holographic scales changed into a shade of shining white skin; the violet of her face and torso, faded to the same iridescent ivory, saving a few lingering marks of lavender diamonds in strategic locations. How surprising that the underwater folk had the same formulated magics. He noticed with an element of glee; her hair was still as pink as before with matching richness.
He wondered what path her eyes would follow: hair or skin?
Better as he was, his current form was starting to feel like a bulky garment, a sign that it needed to return it to the in-between void to recharge. He didn't see anything wrong with him being human while she was also human, so he transitioned, willfully slowing the change to keep her steady. The transition picked his core and pulled inward; the length of his body shrank towards where she cuddled him. He could see the same happened with her during her shifting, as her tail came up to meet her head, rather than her head going down to meet her tail underwater. Another likeness, another piece of evidence of their kinship.
Now that he was leagues smaller, her arms had much better range in her embrace, and she could reach fully around his middle. Her little hands had been gripping his feline's excess rolls, which was not present when he was a man, so he had to adjust her from pulling at his skin as it felt like she would tear his flesh straight off the muscle and bone with her powerful grip. And their reversed position was a bit too vulnerable and perverted from him to allow, she was one shift from face planting into his crotch. The possibility of a repeat of her previous groping making him nervous enough he risked waking her, in special consideration of the fact that his sides were marred by her sleeping hold. She may just pull him to pieces by accident.
Like a doll, he maneuvered her. Lifting arms, turning legs, catching a lulling head when bending her. She didn't comprehensively stir during entirety of the marionette shuffle. And, although he did notice her form was pleasing to the eye and her breasts were very much free for him to ogle at his leisure, still, he was indebted to her, and he was not one to take such things lightly. So, he left his eyes focused at far off points and only concentrated on her face when viewing her was necessary.
As he neared a good position with her adjustments, she made piglet grunts causing him to scoff loudly. The scoff was, in truth, a failure at muffling his chuckles. When the tiny 'squee' noises evolved into unintelligible sleep talk, his laugh burst past his lips. Madara allowed himself to be jolly for a moment, the marm was the picture of a petulant kitten, refusing to wake after a rough night of refusing to sleep, a copy of his youngest brother back in the day.
The smile lounged on his face for a time, while he decided what best to do with her and himself. Cradling her between his arms, supporting her head on his shoulder, he stood. Conscientious of the fact that they were both naked, he kept her propped up high. With morning and recovery came many needs. The need to relieve himself, to feed himself, to orient himself, to stretch and test himself. But he could not, would not, leave her alone without protection. He walked off the rock shelf and into the sand, sinking inches in his stride. With a sweeping leg he cut a dent with his feet so that he could easily cover her up, which she stayed asleep for, peppering all sorts of groans that called for Madara's laugh, even getting him so good he laughed full through his belly.
He felt that he shouldn't put her too deep, for some odd reason, he associated the grains with waste or being dirty. Even though he, himself, was buried for the last several days, and his status owed him high considerations. But he didn't mind being dirtied or dirty. Would she find it unfavorable to be in the ground? She only appeared clean, pristine, to his eye.
The soft smile slowly dropped from his face, the morning mood suddenly somber, Madara looked upon her form, needing a sign. But whatever signal he perceived, he surely would need a cipher or code matrix, for he gleamed no new understanding from the sleeping lady before him. She, with unblemished skin, unbroken hair, and unwavering kindness. He would even call her brave for how she acted, for such skills she displayed meant that she could not be simple. A magical thing in more ways than he knew to understand. Tarnished from her efforts in healing him, and he, so bold and careless and without resources, so much so, he has to bury her in earth. Treating her like a decrepit cast away.
A gloomy cloud passed in his mind, dimming the radiant quality of her skin and pulling him under the tow of his vast sea of shame, cowardice, weakness. Failure, he was a failure. He thought to leave now, unburden this creature and free her space to better endeavors. Let her not suffer this fool any longer, Madara chastised himself with building anger, looking at his hands in distain. But… this little sound. Reminiscent of a puppy whining, and he was looking at her again, abruptly realizing there could be something in the sand harming her. Instantly, his vision was clear again, his body was ready to act. Pull her away, dig, bite, claw, destroy. What was it? A venomous serpent? A vengeful gnome? Blood thirsty sand ticks?
A hair's breadth away from action, she whined louder, and then gurgled. His heart was hammering, was she chocking? Was she allergic to sand, was that why she was on the rock? He plotted a new course, he would take her to the pool, her element was safe! His arms had shifted under her body in a wide embrace, legs and knees engaged to stand when he saw her abdomen vibrate. For another split second he thought 'parasite,' and the dread caused his hair to rise on his arm, his instincts warning of danger. Then, he heard her gut rumble louder, and finally, she belched. Straight into his concern contorted face.
Madara's reaction, delayed by a combination of disbelief and slow comprehension, was to fall forward, face planting into the sand and roarously laugh. Her body trapped his arms, and he was miraculously too weak to extract them, so he had no way to muffle his loudness. And loud they were. True to her established form, she slept on while his sides convulsed in his attempt to quite himself. But the dark mood, a countenance that he was notorious for, was banished. She, a picture of perfection and all things best, still prone to lowly gas. Like the rest of the land mortals and entirely, wholly, adorably, relatable. He wasn't even disgusted with the humidly warm burp; war groups were infinitely more disgusting in their smells and sounds. Her fishy breath had a cleaner quality to it, being that is was only fish and perhaps a hint of lime. His only regret with his role with the impromptu air quality inspector was that he didn't have his bloodline activated to permanently engrave this event into his memory. He couldn't think of any instance in his entire life, where he saw a woman belch.
While turning around her like a belt, smiling into the sand and getting terribly gritty teeth, he heard her belly riot on and on. It occurred to him then, all the sounds, the pouty sleep faces, were stemming from her upset stomach. And then it occurred to him further, like a reactionary chain of discovery, that, obviously, she was hungry. (That, and he was uncharacteristically slow on the uptake.) Yes, a goal. Something within his reach. A new, glorious purpose.
Slowly he rose back to crouching, fondly looking at the dead-to-the-world marm, giddy with the lingering hilarity. He extracted his arms, buried her back in the sand again, and told her he would return straightaway with food. In place of her affirmation, he got a nonsense sleep noise. He accepted that noise as an order from the general and like he would before his rise to pride male, and eagerly went about executing his mission like a greenhorn with something to prove. He turned to leave, about-faced after a few steps, adjusted her hair to cover her chest, then fled like a cat out of the fisherman's ice cooler.
The cave is within his eyesight, her silhouette is distinctly outlined, but he is hidden. Bedridden for so long, he is ecstatic to walk again, engage his muscles. Still, he is naked, and he has to urinate, and relieving himself became the utmost priority after that hearty laugh nearly gave his lady an accidental and wholly unwelcomed golden shower. The second priority, not to disgust her with his functions and subsequent ablutions, therefore, the concealment.
When that chore was done, Madara did a quick peek and confirmed she was asleep. Satisfied, he looked for a serviceable branch or stick he could use for spear fishing, hoping he would be accomplished before she was up. It would please him to feed her, any return of care lifted the uneven distribution of favors. Roughing it, no knife, no line, heh, no problem. Madara was keen in both forms, skilled in both forms, and deadly in both forms.
In the water, knee deep, washed and naked to the single burning star, Madara let his deadly accuracy and precision shine. One, two, three fish. He was practically starving, and he didn't know how many she would eat, so he got a few more than strictly necessary. Back on land he cleaned them messily, pulling out the gizzard and guts by pinching the skin open, leaving the shell for grilling as he had no other cleaning tools. The fire was low, smokeless, a simmering heat perfect for slow cooking, a testament to his mastery of the flame. He left the handful of fish leaning over the flame and returned to the cave with a triumph written in his stance and face.
Now that he had food, he could wake her without guilt. And, finally, as if he had been waiting his whole life and not just a morning, know her.
She was almost perfectly still, no fresh marks in the sand to show her discontent in sleep. Even her breathing was stretched and unlike his own, one of hers for ten of his. With her modesty intact, her hair an unyielding armor, he felt it allowable to look at her once more. Besides the violet to white skin change, and the tail change (which he couldn't compare, her legs were too different from her tail), she looked much as she did before. An interesting take on a shapeshift, the people of the sea must have adapted a half transformation to take advantage of the best of both forms. His people breed their preference of combination similar to her form, except it was limited to their ruby wheel eyes. They adapted a way to combine the incredible night vision of a feline with the color vision of a human into their bloodline trait, making his sight beyond perfect. Well, beyond perfect as long as he follows a few addendums. He knew of other clans who had exemplary combinations, with their own limiters, so it was not out of the ordinary. Did she too, have addendums to her shifting combinations?
She made another cute sound, which he likened to a growl from a kit practicing their ferocity. He bent over and softly touched her shoulder, the whole of his paw was a giant compared to her, but his hand appeared huge as well, wrapping around her shoulder and reaching down her back. He shifted her with care, shushing instinctively. And since he lacked any idea on what to say, now that he could say something, he called out 'hello' over and over between the shushing. The contrariness of his rousing was perfectly mirrored back to him. She responded with a cranky moan and covered her eyes with her forearm, ignoring him. He considered calling out to her with one of the many nicknames she earned in his head, all gentle like because he found her puerility cute, or telling her outright to get up, like he would with a soldier because he didn't particularly like being ignored.
Instead, he picked her up as he had before, and brought her to the food. If he was smell motivated there was a good chance she was as well. The sun direct on her face was enough to cause her to stir, and when she lifted her forearm to uncover the newly opened eyes, he observed that the green was as vivid and raw as he had seen before. The bright, clearness so pure he could see himself reflecting, as if peering into a looking glass.
He enjoyed her wakening with relief, evidence of no greater ailments confirmed by her consciousness. That was extremely short lived when she wailed next to his ear, nearly deafening him, and then wildly bucking hard enough he was compelled to drop her legs. When her feet touched down, she was graceless and untamed in her fight. Her voice was human, woman-like, not the resonant tone he experienced just yesterday, and it was pitched in hysteria and confusion. There were no words, just cries of agony, of fear. The tears were rushing as fast as her feet were kicking and arms flailing. Terrified, she was entering a state of panic.
Shocked, he held her stronger against him, restraining her. When she became more desperate, he lowered both of them down to the beach, trying to consul her, reassure. It took no time to uncover the root of the issue and Madara felt, again and with an increasingly unwelcomed frequency, like a fool. His rescuer was frightened of men. And his human form was known to be uncommonly scary, far above the norm, with his ink hair and shadowy sunken eyes and downturned expressions. The darkness of his face accented by the long fringe casting shadows and the residue traces of the void, an effect from badly managed time with his forms. How foolish, urg, again, for him to not realize that she would be more comfortable with his beast form. She had no history with this form, of course she would react in fear. The deficiency of his forethought would bring another depressive mood, if not for the fact that this very wild thing was at risk of hurting itself and himself if he didn't calm her down. Worse, if she transitioned as easy as he did and called upon her magics, one of them may end up dead.
She continued to fight, and he turned them so that she scrambled below him. Above her, close as a shell to a turtle, he pushed his fatigued beast forward, willing that this would sooth her quickest, and if not, at least it would be the strongest defense he had. His feline size was without equal in his clan, longer than she is tall by more than double. Extending from his core, when fully grown he was totally sheltering her form and provided her space to move around. The anguished cries of torment faded, presumably in time with her realization of what, of who, was above her. Carefully, he stepped around her limbs, sitting so near that she could reach out to him. Her eyes were doe wide and questioning as he slowly shifted back into his human form.
He watched with care, ready to react. She must understand, of that he was certain, but maybe that was impossible for her at this very moment, where fear and logic were vicious enemies. And he had been such a burden, the least he could do is handle this sad, frightened thing, with care and consideration. Her tears, no longer a flooding river, dropped sporadically. He observed the fine grains of sand stuck to her face in a spotty fashion, and if not for her traumatized expression, he might have laughed at the prepubescent beard costume. As if it was a real, visceral thing, Madara could see her realization take root. The skin creasing, folding, relaxing around her eyes, eyes that lost the too wide position in favor of roving dexterity. Darting, to absorbing, to knowing, to understanding; she was in the company of someone like her, she was not in danger. That mental arrival brought another sorrowful theater for him to witness, her relief had no focus or container. As she wept, she called out 'samin, samin,' in a pitiful voice with an even more pitifully weak outreach of her hand.
He shuffled walked his feet while crouched, to avoid the dominate standing position, slowly approaching her and, finally, he gingerly held her in a side embrace. Sitting side by side, she tucked safely under his shoulder, naked in smoldering hot sand, was an experience both great and terrible. He thought back to the atrocities of humans and war as he waited for her to calm. Not too long ago he pounced to kill and she was not as remotely bothered then as she was now. His heart was in his throat, tightly controlling his ability to swallow, as his mind filled with all the horrible possibilities that caused her to be so affected. Other lore, cruel and animalistic, about the merfolk came to his mind. As her trembling subsided and the sad, weepy sounds diminished, so too, did the uncomfortable atmosphere.
Madara gave the added time he thought was sufficient for such things, unaccustomed to weepy women that he was, before he attempted to lighten her mood. Batting at her dangling hair closest to her face with the arm wrapped around her shoulder, he drew her attention. Then he reached long with his free arm, pulling her in an angular, distorted hug and grasped a roasting branch. He broke one the twig into threes and brought one of the skewed fish to her hand. Miming, he pinched his five fingers together, motioning to eat by mock kissing his fingers.
Those impossibly beautiful eyes looked to him with fear and distrust, so much so, hurt manifested in his gut. Still, he measured his reactions and tempered himself with patience. Softly wiping away the sand and salt off her face, humming in low volumes a random jolly tune he remembered in pieces from a past celebration, he babied her the best he could. He even went so far as to attempt to tuck his hair behind his ear, so that she may see two eyes at once. An impossible feat, as the obstinate lank fell in his face over and over, to be retucked again and again, until he heard her sweet giggle, twinkling like a herald of her better mood.
He carefully watched her, the smile wavered, but her expression was much lighter. When she finally took a small, impossibly small, bite he rejoiced internally. It was satisfying a primal part of his instincts when she started eating, he hoped the smile he returned for hers wasn't eerie or unsettling, as others often remarked it was. When she finished with the meatiest part, with delicate manners, she placed the leftover fish down like a dandy, and that made him chuckle to see. "Such a proper lady," he jokingly said to her, picking up her fish and consuming the remaining parts. The beast in him ingested whole, and he was accustomed to finishing all parts, bones, eyes, and all. He handed her the next fish, and so they went until she refused to eat any more giving him leave for the remaining portion.
While he ate, she cautiously touched him, his shoulders and neck, chest and belly. He shifted awkwardly to keep her hands going lower and was rewarded with a giggle (he returned that smile with his signature pout), but otherwise passively enjoyed her soft touch. Her hands went up and into his hair, tucking the thick band of hair, and getting the same fall forward result. She looked at his hair like a puzzle, when the determined expression sprouted he knew she had decided something. Non-vocal as they presently were, he could only wait for illumination as she lifted herself high and combed her fingers, all ten, over the crown of his head. The slicking back motion with lightly scratching nails caused a pleasant electricity to zoom down his spine, and a very real shiver to manifest. Then there was a tugging type feeling in his scalp, and a view of her arms shifting above his head. When she leaned away from him, no more hair fell into his face. And with his hand, he could feel a weave was fashioned into his hair. He gave her a nod in approval and thanks, then chocked down the chuckle that sprang forward in time with her angry pout when pieces of his fringe fell forward and out of her up-do. She worked on his hair, with varying grades of success, until he had his fill.
Finished with the food, he stood and helped her up, and with far more force than was required when he almost threw her overhead. In a split second, he panicked, worried he startled her again and annoyed with himself at forgetting the breezy type weight she had. When a joyous squeal met his ears his palpations went steady, and he found that he very much would enjoy the dynamic of laughing together. Madara caught her under her arms and stabilized her, not knowing if she was an experienced walker or if this was the early learning stages. After some steps, he found that indeed, this was her training time. This gave him another avenue to repay her care, not that it made much difference as she could do this on her own, but something was better than nothing.
She hadn't spoken to him yet, save 'samin,' and he assumed that was because they didn't share a common tongue. But not all messages needed meaning, they needed feeling, energy and expression. "Outstanding, you are a fast learner," was his first compliment, allowing her to use his forearms as a moving support for her baby steps. "Truly amazing," his second, as she changed to hovering her hands. Each growth earned a "good, great, yes, well done, excellent," all spoken with as much positivity as he could pour into his voice, which is admittedly low in comparison to others.
Regardless, it proved to be sufficient. She smiled and puffed happily, until she was steady and able to walk without his assistance or corrections. He had seen his share of lost children rehabilitation efforts, those children also only ever knew their beast form, and it took them months to master bipedal walking. He marveled at her; she was remarkably fast on the uptake. Her earlier suspicion and fear was replaced by something beautiful and trusting, causing a powerful twist in his gut. She was blooming like the morning sun after a dreary night, and it stunned him stupid.
He stood there, watching her learn to be sufficient, then proficient, then stylized with grace. His smile would grow when she looked at him, then slowly fade as he tried to concentrate, watching her step, analyzing for improvement, only for the dopey smile to grow again when she looked at him… And he would forget what exactly he was thinking about. Again. When she was done perfecting her skills, she stood before him. They finally had nothing else to distract, and no way of speaking to learn the greater details of each other, as individuals.
There was an awkwardness to them, standing face to face, close enough she had to look up to see him and he had to tilt his head down to her. There was a thought in the back of his mind that, such a pretty thing as she, she would be used to other, equally attractive creatures, other males too, and he might appear to be repulsive to her. She was spring sun, he the tired night. And that may be true, he may be ugly compared to her kind, but her mannerisms suggested that she was as interested in him as he was in her. And that gave him confidence, transforming his expression rakish. His cocky smile grew as her countenance slowly morphed, cluing him to the effect he had on her, the flush, the lean, the eyes looking at him through her lashes. The greater his smile, the more she demurred with shy smiles and blushing cheeks. And the more she did that, the greater his smile became, the more chuffed he felt.
But they could not continue in this way, he had no more teeth to show, no more air to swallow to support his puffing. "Come my beauty, I have seen the flower, moon, wind, bird. But I have never seen this wonder. Let us discover one another, together." He said, and reached for her arm, lifting it and maneuvering her hand over his heart. His energy, frisky and excitable, wanted one thing. For her to know him. He said, "Ma-da-ra," loud and clear, with enunciation, and gave her his most expectant look. Her flush, prettily complementing her cheeks, deepened in color. Again, he spoke, "Ma-da-ra." This time a touch faster so that she wouldn't accidentally think that the speed was associated with name. Then one final time, "Madara."
"Madara," was the dearly echoed. Happy, he nodded to her, she got it perfectly. Even made such a blemished name sound attractive.
At this point, he should have known this would occur, but he didn't. Or he did and his inner pervert (read beast) erased the possibility from his understanding just to make it happen. Or maybe he was irreparably brain damaged from how hard he hit the water days ago. But when she lifted his hand and placed it over her left breast he was stupefied. His face, instantly pepper red and ears steaming as he got an intimate feel of her. He had done so well the last few hours too, circumventing all sorts of 'situations,' deleting her nudity from view even as he looked at her. All forgotten as he became stone and unnaturally still.
He lost the courage to look at her, instead seeing the horizon as he forced himself to remain uninspired. Rotten food, bathing Nana, desolated forests, shared latrines… She worked out what to say to him, he could hear the muttering and wondered if she had a complex name from all that she opened and closed her mouth in contemplation. His hand itched, ached, and twitched from how long it took her to decide, but when she did, introducing herself as 'Sakura,' he stopped reciting and promptly burst out laughing, again. Truly, he could not remember a time where he laughed so often.
Worried that he would offend her, he quickly and succinctly said, "Sakura," as acknowledgement, containing his mirth via the habit of ceremonial respect. Of course, of course pink and green, white and purple. All the colors of the blossoming trees. She the very essence of rebirth, wake from death, turn to life. How could she be anything but a Sakura. The confused face, so sweet and true, called for him to hold her, for that was the only way he could think to express the positive complexity of his reaction. When he took the step in, he reevaluated that they were, still, naked, and instead pulled her under his shoulder, for a reserved side hug. As an added bonus, he noticed, for better or worse, they fit like a puzzle piece.
Without tribe or clan, homestead or territories, there wasn't much that he could think of doing to occupy their time in leisure (well, there were a few things, but they are inappropriate at this juncture). So, he walked forward, guiding her by their embrace to stroll with him. The ocean with the sparkling blue and rhythmically crashing waves, the salty breeze and afternoon sun, setting an ideal backdrop. For a time, the quite walk was its own pleasure, but his objective driven mindset caught up and he found ways to grow them together. As he spotted items of interest, he would point at them, or bend over to grab them, and then say the word to her. Sand, shell, crab were easy starts, and she in return said her words for them; wahk, wappy, jazaf. Then actions like run, walk, hop. Give, take, this, that, were harder to demonstrate. Find, where, easier to teach as it prompted a childish game.
She had no discomfort at his state of undress, and from her example, he found his gaze naturally ceased wandering again. Well, it wandered less, at least. Even as he bent over or crouched, with that touch of extra indecent exposure, she had a way of making him at ease in his skin, disproportionate to the length of their acquaintanceship. In fact, the more adventurous their excursions the more he realized that she reacted to eye contact like he reacted to her nudity, that was her intimacy.
He thought, out of respect he should limit the deep looks, but she blossomed under his scrutiny, and he enjoyed her positive reaction to him. So, like a cad, he didn't. And was rewarded. Like primeval people; hand signals, sand drawings, bodily demonstration were employed. But the spectacular results came from the way they connected intensity of their connection grew, their understanding of each others mannerisms and expressions increased, in-turn, lubricating their communications where it lacked the most.
Soon, he was able to combine words into simple sentences. 'This is a fruit, but also a lime.' And she understood, when she provided him another tropical items, asking him 'what else from fruit?' His earlier goal, orient himself, was achieved with these elementary lessons. Exploring the area, which was indeed as unoccupied as he first thought, and also, an island island. It was shocking to see that nothing was within his viewable range when they traveled the diameter of the edge, not even another landmass, not even a jutting rock.
He took them inland then, hoping for some other discoveries. Pleasant as his day has been, realistically, he needed to leave to check in with his warring company, and soon. As they walked deeper, he found that this area was a paradise in every sense of the word as he knew it. Large green leaves, flowers, fruits, ferns and a picturesque waterfall around every bend or turn, bubbling out of sporadic mounds shorter than most of the overgrown trees.
His maiden companion took a shower in nearly every one, dancing in the shallow water pads and sighing when enveloped by the cool water. All of which he was inclined to appreciate, with his back to her, of course. The purity of the water freshened her skin, causing her fragrance to fill the vicinity and, even with his less sensitive nose, captivating his senses so that he momentarily forgot his goal. She did this seven times before he started to join her under the cascade, finding himself warm from the high sun... and other stirring, ruttish agitations.
He spoke more with her, but less to educate her, and more to help him retain focus on his goal. Being naked and wet another test of his honorable resolve, but articulating about his life and family and hobbies segued him back into the safe waters. She gave him her full attention with an enthusiastic, unwavering gaze, and that too, he enjoyed. Madara was not a loquacious man, yet, with her avid face absorbing his every word, he couldn't stop talking. He gabbed on and on and, after his lady stumbled from the fading light, he was startled to comprehend the extent of time passed. He decided to give up looking for some vantage here and directed them back towards home base. He was unafraid of any creature here or the night dark sky, but he knew there was nothing more gained from this endeavor and he hungered for more meat. And now they had leftover mangoes and limes to enjoy with the fish.
Back at the beach, Madara found the twilight difficult to navigate with spear fishing and flushed as he missed his third jab into the water. In part, he was distracted by Sakura's scoop, catch, toss method of highly successful fishing. She crouched comfortably in the surf and moved with efficiency, catching his attention, her body and skill the perfect luring bait. Plucking his tool from the sand, he returned to the land, deciding he needn't burden her with the effort to toss him to the beach as he was already caught. Might as well prep the fire and food.
Dinner was excellent, the quality divinely elevated by the additional ingredients, though that could be his lingering starvation talking. Sakura was eager to eat as well, but waited for him to serve her each time. Providing him with her castaways, an exact copy of this morning. As he ate her leftovers, he found her mimicry endearing. They spoke easily, sharing word for word on the things they didn't speak of at breakfast. When that was exhausted, they moved onto more complicated groups of words. Her grasp of his language continued to impress, and he was gaining mastery of her words. Now he felt he could ask about home.
"Do you know the direction of my home is, where my home?" He motioned to her cave when he said home both times, unsure if it would translate as the cave didn't seem to be her home. He wrote the letters in the sand and made a crude example of a family sleeping within a square.
"Yes," she pointed over his shoulder, then slapped her hands together while moving them across his field of view, whistling a 'pew.' He stared blankly, replaying the motion in his head until that lightbulb epiphany illuminated his blushing pink face. She saw him skipping from that direction when he got caught in his own spell. Damn, even if all the humans were dead, his idiocy was witnessed and would endure. He withheld the urge to groan, he had never considered to be wary of spying aquatics. Chewing on that nugget of information, it's bitterness lightened by the fish and her honest company, he swallowed his ire and rallied on.
"Do you know how I get from here, back where I came from? From here to there?" Madara asked.
Mid chew, she paused to respond with a shoulder shrug, undisturbed by his ask. "No," she paused to do the hand-clap-hop again, signaling he couldn't or shouldn't do that, then she finished with a voice that suggested the simplest was the best, "swim." Her lackadaisical manners helped temper the negative emotions that sprouted when he perceived himself mocked or ridiculed, but the heat in his ears manifested all the same. Well, yes, that was obvious. He meant, any other method…
Embarrassed or not, he found her exact copy of his accent was cute. And he observed that when she spoke many of her learned words strung together, her imitation was clearer. He was passing his mannerisms and accent and learned habits to her. He wondered if given enough time, would she abandon her feminine walk and dainty table manners for his rougher, no-nonsense ways? Imaging this fairy lass as hard and intimidating, powerfully sweeping her enemies away, had double the blood pounding in his ears. The waking dream took a homely turn, putting into his mind's eye what future they could have. A fruitful battle of vanquishing foes, returning home together, the triumphant couple, where alone he would be showered in her sweetness and love, and he would...
He better stop. His head was starting to hurt from the blood pounding incessantly in his ears. Spoiled meat, bathing Nana with Pepa, shared latrines…
Diverting, Madara looked to the ocean, a black mirror with the faintness of glittering white from the waning moon. The beautiful blessed moon, his first love, now the second most lovely thing to him. The sky was much the same as when his inadvertent adventure started, only before the shadow was eating the moon and now the shadow was leaving the moon, like a left and right hand. He did not have a romantic heart, but Madara had a poetic one, and he felt that it was fitting that Sakura was present for the casting away of the darkness. Even when she inspired such… frivolous thoughts.
For a drawn out time, he looked to the sea. The waves were a lullaby, made more effective with his full belly. The isolated safety of the island, the comfortable smell of good smoke from clean wood, Sakura's so near and warm and sweet, he was suddenly heavy and worn. He thought he might even sleep right here, under the stars, except that was foolish, ungrateful thinking. She may not be warm out in the open, and turning away from shelter, a luxury, for an inconvenience, risking many levels of exposure, was selfish. He kicked sand over the flame to preserve the wood and promptly led them back to the cave. She had droopy energy as well, so she leaned hard on him and dragged her feet. He picked her up with no thought, and walked the distance to their resting location, and placed her down.
As a habit, Madara was used to sleeping in beast form when away from home. There have been so few exceptions to that established rule that he often couldn't sleep unless he was in his beast form when camping. But the excited way Sakura danced when they entered the cave made him delay the transition to see what energized her so. "Jaidai samin, jaidai samin" she sing-songed softly at him, embracing him fully, rubbing her face back and forth on his chest. And he, enjoying the soft, warm, supple body curving into him, found that this night would be an easy exception.
She held him for a long, long time. He wondered if she was waiting for him as all he heard her say was "jaidai samin," softy, dropping into a semi-sleep after temporarily becoming hyperactive, like a toddler. He stood straight for so long, that his knees felt twingy. Still, he waited, anticipating some cue. He gave up with a sigh when he felt her breathing even out. Gripping her securely to him, he trust fell into the bed of sand. The umph of the fall was echoed between them, but Sakura kept the hold, waking up only enough to wiggle around until she was comfortable. He had to reach down and cup himself away from her, dangerous that she was, but his contented smile was unwavering. Her nuzzling slowly settled, and then, impressive as always, she was asleep. He couldn't blow out a candle as fast as she fell asleep.
For a beat he was still, then he started to shift for his own comfort. He pushed back and back until he had a hill of sand behind him and a wall he could lean on. He moved her too, so that she straddled his thigh, rather than laying between his legs, which was a cool breezy relief that freed his hand. A finishing touch, he shoulder shimmed her into the ideal spot on his chest.
He had a salacious view of her stretched body; her back was soft and smooth and small at the waist with a swell to her hips. His instinctual human side enjoyed seeing that his hands could cover the majority of her back, that his arms were long enough to reach the back of her thighs, that his one leg had strength to lift her. A complete opposite to his beast form, which purred at the prospect of her suggested size hidden in the depths. If she had given him any hint that she had carnal desires, he was positive that he would give up his honorable intentions, happily and without hesitation. She probably didn't know to have such thoughts about him, innocent to the ways of her human form and the accompanying benefits of physical connection. Madara wondered what merfolk did, for fish laid eggs? What would she know? What could she know? He gave a few faint chuckles, suddenly uncomfortable with the idea that all the roe he avoided in his life were the lost or pilfered children of mythical creatures. Resolved, he would ask about her people when they learned more of each other's language, if only for his own peace.
He used his blunt nails to scratch a pattern into her skin, then the tips of his fingers, writing nonsense over her shoulder blades, down her spine, over the dimples above her rear, coming back up to complete the circle by tracing the outline of her figures curves. Considering that she threw herself onto him, and the state they were in, this type of touch fell into the 'acceptable' category. Still, he cautiously leaned to the side to check if she had had any adverse reaction, he could see that her face was dead weight squished. Her cheek was compressed in a way that distorted her face funnily, smushing her lips into an uneven figure eight. Madara had to take a deep breath to calm himself for he suddenly felt like he needed to wrap her in his arms and crush her so hard, they melded into one.
His hands continued to move, obsessed with the remarkable softness as he thought about how she directed his actions. Madara's encounters with women in the past averaged as good, but there was a fundamentality to the connection that meant there was a distance and casualness, truly lacking in greater depth. The opportunity for physical affection was lacking, but not null. Here, now, he thought that every hug, careful mend, and friendly touch throughout his life was deficient, for nothing made him feel quite like he felt right now. His body, a cooked noodle, the comfort of her weight, it left every aspect of nervous anxiety flat and meaningless. Her warmth too, the sound of her breathing, the smell…eased him into such a state. If he had more time, he would find more words, but his consciousness was rapidly fading, so the simplest words would do.
With her, now, he was someone without so many labels, he simply was. And there was comfort in that.
The people of the sea truly were medicinal in many ways.