A drabble on the theme of Turtle (gaia transfer)

[Owlsomniac]

2016 Valentines drabble event from gaia

A DRABBLE ON THE THEME OF TURTLE!
Kin Name: Evermore
Drabble:
[imgleft]http://matope.pixel-blueberry.com/image ... uncert.png[/imgleft]
Its shell is dried out and full of sand, tough remnants of tissue clinging to its insides like cobwebs that even the scouring wind and sand haven’t been able to rid it of, yet. The buck standing before it studies the half buried shape of it with glowing eyes, his expression impassive, yet somehow deeply thoughtful.

He cannot help but wonder how this creature came to meet such a demise. The shell is large, and old barnacles are still stuck to its underside. It must have been quite old. Perhaps it died of age, like anything in this world is wont to do. Then again, perhaps some sort of predator got to it, he thinks, as he studies what appear to be gashes scoring one side of the shell. Even those, however, seem old, and faded, as if they’ve had some time to heal.

The shell still gleams with color beneath the dust of the sand, though, and he imagines that it must have been like a jewel in the ocean - gleaming bright and beautiful beneath the waves. A thing to be proud of, certainly. He swipes some of the sand away with his tails and then leans closer for a better look. It is deep brown and gold, all in a pattern, and even the nicks along its edge, and the old and faded bite-marks, only seem to add to its charm. Every scrape and scratch is a story that he can almost imagine taking shape in his mind’s eye -- if only he had any inkling what the other contenders in such a play might look like!

What such an old creature must have seen, Evermore cannot imagine. Great things, most likely. Sadness, death, birth, life, and wonders beyond his own imagination. Things no creature from this swamp could ever hope to see with their own eyes.

Then, as he moves to haul it up from its place in the sand he startles, surprised, as the sand shifts beneath where the thing had lain. He backs away quickly, uncertain, until, one by one, tiny turtles begin to wriggle their way out from the sand and toward the water. Before long there’s ten, and then twenty and more, and Evermore lets out a sound of delight as he watches them head into the foaming surf. A few go astray, and these he carefully nudges back in the right direction. What a delight. Life born from death. The two equal and opposing forces at work together, right here on this beach.

His chest bursts suddenly with the need to travel, to see, to know anything and everything he possibly can -- to visit his own children, even, and see how they are doing -- and he sways a little against the wind; against the pull that urges him onward.

Not yet.

There’s still more to learn here -- about this old turtle, about this strip of beach and the tiny miracles it may yet contain. He’ll spend some time cleaning out the shell as he explores, and perhaps it will reveal even more secrets to him. Time will tell.

WC : 517