Manannan
The swipe floored him to the sands, each tiny grit punctuated the sting as he slid. He crawled back and to his knees, a hand on where the skin of his cheek was. Blood streaming through his fingers from flesh and his now useless eye. He shook his head to clear his head.
“You. Dare,” It observed.
There wasn’t much use in talking now. He realised he’s passed that moment when he went to Otherworld to retrieve his love. So he did what any man would do faced with an angry deity. He spit on It.
Another swipe and he flew backwards hitting the rocks. The sharpness of the pain surprised him even when he was prepared for it. One cannot prepare for pain, he realised. Those soft looking feathers prophesied only scars. Only if he survived. He didn’t need to survive, now that he’s failed Eliah.
“I would take you now, if it wasn’t what you wanted. But I know you do, so I won’t. Enjoy the rest of your life with your failure.”
‘But I would see you again, Manannan, sooner or later. I would be the thorn in your wing, the taint in your history, the stone in your feed.’
The lapping wave washed his consciousness to its sea.
This is a response to the Imagà Imaginings prompt by Ernio Hernandez.
