Quote:Cat's got your tongue.

A lie is like a cat.

Making movies is like herding cats.

Curiousity killed the cat.



And yet no-one ever speaks about the fish. The fish that saw too much, sought too much, and spoke too much.

The fish that bled too much.

A life of simple beginnings was born. A life where his first breath was ripe with the tang of sea water and the assaulted pressure of the depths. Where imagery was born from the shift of tides and movement, the faint clicks carried upon the thick currents, where if one was quiet enough they could hear their own heart in their ears. Even at its quietest.

There was little time spent in the arms of a matron before he flicked his hands and learned to ride his first current, clinging to the tails of his elders when his own grew too weary. A frail lad among his nomadic tribe, he was seen as more burdan than use. Yet among them he grew, for numbers no matter their minority were always in need. Kindness was found, not among his peers or his blood that sufficed only what they were required to, but by the spirit that was bound to him. Though by nature his type, even among the nomadic deep Anguill, was considered a rarity, it wasn't for good reason. Afterall, what use was a creature with such bright colors against the hunters of the depths? What use was such a frail body, when others bore tails that could at the very least hold enough muscle to lash out like a whip?

The Sea Slug spirit was a weakness. But to him, it was a saving grace.

The water spirit wasn't his only peer. An adventurous youth, a pride of the clan who bore his parents names where Chael bore neither. A youth who always thought of Chael as he dashed into danger, whose exploits often resulted in saving the weaker Anguill bretheren, much to Chaels chargin. But it was a friend where none other existed, and so such venom was buried in favor of desperation.

Until that day when curiousity and cowardace spelled the end to one story, and the beginning of another.

They were meant only to gather a few things, hunt. But his companion, every adventurous, sought to chase rumors of deeper seas and citadels lost, tales that had been caught among whispers deeply forbidden. As their tribe passed territories of danger, Chael and his companion sought out adventure. Deep the waters were that they tred, until the hint of an infamous formation of deep purple caught their eyes, Chael hanging in the rear, afraid. And no sooner did that first glimpse meet their gaze, than so too did the beings of this deeper place. Chael bore witness to them for only a moment before he fled, glancing only long enough back to witness his companion being dragged deeper. Though he hesitated, his cowardace won out, and he fled back to his tribe for aide.

However, it wasn't just such exursions that were forbidden, but even word of them. When he sought those of his clan to save his companion, perhaps it was in part blame, or simple fear. No sooner had he uttered his words before he was met with the flash of bared teeth, even from those who had given him his blood. Family, ally, and stranger, all turned against him at once. He fled once more, blood black among the deep sea as he migrated away from others of his kind in his fear. Eventually he settled on the shoals of shallow waters, a deep discomfort that at least protected him for some time. Eventually, out of perhaps a deep set loneliness as he nursed his wounds and loss of voice, he stole what he could from unaware land-dwellers and migrated inland, trading the shimmer of luminouse flesh for that of the clumsy mimicry of the land dwellers limbs.

It was in this, he found a fragile bond. A temporary solution, a temporary tribe. Voiceless though he was, he had use enough to live among them, and in turn his secrets were left to be his own. Still, it is often he looks back over the tides, homesick for the tribe that barely acknowledged him, and the companion that once held him close, and fearful of the glimpse of darkness that waited further below.