It seemed to be pushing against them, like an animal who has tasted freedom and refuses to go back into its cage. – Museum of Thieves p202 — The tide was so vast and endless that the operation seemed hopeless, yet it was only with hope that they had begun the mission. Ridiculously ungrounded hope.  Holding back the sea? What lunatic would even attempt such a feat? Them clearly. The four bedraggled urchins and a bird.

Swallowing hard and securing himself to the shore Skye dug his bare toes into the gritty sand, feeling the cool wet ground hold him and calm his fear. He could feel the pull of the ocean, the fight for freedom. There was a wild, exhilarating sensation of the sheer joy of letting the water run wild, the sea was an ancient creature who had been woken and was about to devour the shore that had so long defied it. It was angry, reckless with rage, and wildly insane with hunger. Racing toward the tideline was a hundred foot wave, easily big enough to kill everything and everything within the next twenty miles inland and wipe this civilization of the face of the planet. It was tempting, painfully so, to ride with the wave, become swept up in the mad joy of destruction. What did Skye even owe these puny citizens who he was striving to save? Nothing. Why was he putting his life on the line when most wouldn’t spare a thought for his wellbeing? He wanted to end them, to destroy all of the known world, to let the might of the elements rip through the pitiful dwellings and careless hearts.

And then what? Whispered a quiet voice inside him. Where would you go? Do you want to be alone again? No. No he didn’t. He had been alone a long time and he had no wish to return to the lost boy he had been. Summoning his strength he sought a way out, no one could stop the sea, but you could divert it.

Cold air and misty top, swirling grey of solid air, dark green trees that catch the smoke, mysterious as forgotten ghosts. On the edge of the drop, the jungle beneath drifts in and out of sight, the whiteness shrouding the ancient splendour. Wooden balcony, fresh air, enough to wake the mind up now. The fog has fallen, but cooled the still, the muggy confusion is no longer here. The silence is hushed, muffled by cloud, like the changing of worlds at the top of the faraway tree. A bridge between worlds, the trees are feathered firs, the air is so cold, and the rocks grey and bold. The monks still moan, and the people stained brown, the red fabric wrapped, and the garlands still show. Where is the line? That bridges the gap, the Norse spoke of rainbows, the Greeks of great rivers. The line between worlds, where mine joins theirs, the line to show where the dream meets reality. My old and quaint yearning, for cobbles and grass, is met with dark trees, and ornate beds.

Two boys sat alone in the cell, bruised and homesick, it was a wonder they were still smiling. Fire sparked in the dark and the older twin lifted his hand to the wall, taking the other, which was already crackling with a merry blaze, he began to scorch the wall surrounding it. Letting out a whoop he nudged his brother.

“Look! It’s just how Ash showed us,” he pointed and his twin grinned and stood up to summon his own fire and place his own hand print on the wall.

“Oh that’s cool! Betcha I can make a better one than you,” Coal taunted twisting his hand to form the head of a dog by tucking in his fingers and burning the area around.

Blaze scoffed. “It was my idea, watch.” He began his own set of shapes until the two began on a group project with one making a shape and the other projecting the fire. Their laughter rung through the jail, causing old prisoners to blink awake and guards to frown in confusions as the two created their own happiness out of the rubble.