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There's another child on the shore.
There's another child, wading on the shore, translucent turquoise waves lapping against his pale knees, looking half-interestedly at the fish. His hair is so pale it's almost white, a glistening platinum - Kar Long has only ever seen the older nainai's and gong-gong's with pale hair, and theirs is more gray than silver, wispy but strong, strands of monochrome. This boy's hair shines, pretty like strands of spun silver he imagines treasures from fairies, or perhaps the wealth of jewels and finery in the Heaven's Court like in the stories Teacher tells him.
He's so pale. He's never seen anyone with hair so white before.
"Are you a ghost?" He asks. He looks like one - skin white like the moon, high in the sky, translucent. Is he from the moon, like Cheong'O? Does he know the rabbits? But his eyes are a pretty purple, not red like a bunny's. Maybe he really is a faerie - he's never seen anyone with violet eyes like this, like a rare gemstone's, like someone took a piece of the ocean at dusk, dark purple skies above rolling waves, and put them into his eyes - but lighter, too, like the roll of glass waves at dawn, when the sky breaks orange and blends with the blue to make lavender.
"I'm not a ghost." The boy scoffs in reply. "Are you a ghost?"
"I'm not a ghost! Why would I be a ghost?!"
"Your hair looks like you just drowned." Kar-Long raises a hand to inspect his hair, frowning. Ah, well. To be fair, he was just swimming, and now it's plastered to the sides of his hair and neck like sticky seaweed. There might be some seaweed there too. He's really not sure.
Indignanted at having his hair insulted, he marches over to the boy's side of the beach and closes the distance between them, determined to continue the conversation. You can't close on a loss!
"What'cha doing?" He peers at from where the boy is digging at the sand, clear waves making shifts in the pale grains and moving around his fingers.
"I'm finding shells. Look!" The boy holds out his hand and gestures to the varied shells held in it. Most are white with brown waves, with a few grey ones. They almost blend into his hand. Kar-Long nods. They're very pretty shells. He likes them.
The boy reaches into his pockets, and pulls out even more fragments of shells, tiny pieces of a whole falling down into the grains of sand and melding in. Then he pauses and reaches into his other pocket, and presents a tiny conch, almost whole, pearly-white with caramel spirals.
"This is for you." The boy pauses. "You can have it if you like." Kar-Long's heart skips a beat. It's such a pretty shell! He's making a very important transaction here.
He takes the shell out of the boy's hand, and gently but firmly holds it in his hand. The shell holds, digging into his palm a little, and he runs a finger absentmindedly over all the smooth ridges of it, again and again, pretty in its own way.
Kar-Long's holding the shell tight, like something precious, like a clam holding a shining pearl of devotion and built time in its shell, but except not really, because this is a shell and not a pearl in a clam.
"It's so warm here," The silver-haired boy next to him muses. Glancing over at him from where they sit together, knees almost touching, together in the sand after trading shells from their hands - he really is quite pretty. The afternoon light hits his eyes to make them like the sea, blue and violet and blooming. He has freckles, but they're paler, dots of light brown on his skin and a smattering on his cheeks and hands.
The weather is balmy today, sticky, warm warmth just simmering slightly in the hair, hung like a thick blanket. The water's warm too - from the afternoon sun, enveloping him like a familiar embrace as he lets his arms slide and lies down into the sand, grains clinging to his arms slowly.
"Is it not warm where you're from?" He's not from here, right? Kar-Long's never seen him around, and like he'd thought, he'd never seen anyone with white hair and purple eyes. Perhaps he lived in the heavenly court, with all the pretty fairies, where everyone had eyes the colors of gemstone. Kar-Long had never considered that heaven could be cold, but he supposed it made sense - like when he went up the surrounding mountains with Teacher and the air thinned and cooled. The air would be cooler in the sky too.
"No," The boy says, "It's cold. I like it sometimes, alone. It makes me feel focused." He cocks his head. "But I like the warmth too."
"Ah-Long! Time for lunch!" A call comes from above the beach.
"Oh. My brother says it's time for lunch." Kar-Long blinks. "Come on!" The boy stares at him, and for a second Kar-Long thinks he'll leave, but he gets up and follows.
"Aiyah," Teacher says when he gets to the door, "You're all messy. Even if it's summer, you're going to get sick!" Before his eyes move to the boy standing next to him. "Ah, and who's this? Did you make a friend?"
Kar-Long nods.
"Well, come in. I made lunch."
-
"Do you have a brother?" Kar Long asks over lunch, prodding and poking at his food in favor of talking to the boy he's met. Teacher is still busy in the kitchen, so he hasn't noticed yet.
The boy pauses and thinks. "Yes," He says, "I have two. But sometimes I don't see them, because they're away, or I'm away, or they're fighting."
Kar-Long frowns. "That sounds awfully lonely." He couldn't imagine being left alone, away from his older brother.
"It's alright. I don't mind being alone." He seems to think. "Well, sometimes. But maybe it would be nice to have a friend." The boy's hand rests on the dinner table, next to the chopsticks, next to him. Somehow, Kar-Long thinks he likes the look of their hands next to each other.
-
They're sat at the table now.
"So, I heard Ah-Long say you have two brothers, right? Do you live with them? Do you have to go home soon?"
The boy frowns. "I think so, I have to go home. Not now. But maybe soon."
Kar-long frowns too, in tandem. "I don't want you to leave." He protests, hand moving over to hold the boy's.
Teacher laughs. "Well, I'm sure you'll see him again!"
-
"It's so warm here," The boy muses as they sit. "Does it even snow?"
"Snow? What's snow?" Kar-Long leans forward, interest piqued.
"You don't know what snow is?"
He shakes his head.
"It's like, when there's rain but it's white, and lighter, and cold and it's not water but it's sort of like ice."
"What's ice?"
Teacher returns from the kitchen, laughing. "He's right. Ah-long, snow is a little like - yes, it's like rain, but colder. And ice is what water becomes when it gets cold enough, and it turns into a solid."
"Oh." Kar-Long thinks he kind of understands it now. The idea is still a bit nebulous to him, but all he can think about is if snow will be like the boy's pretty hair, shimmering like spun silk, like something that comes from the heavens.
-
"Wait," Kar-Long pauses. "So what's your name?" He's just realised that he'd never asked the boy's name, and never told his own. He'd just felt sort of - comfortable, with him, like at his side was where he was meant to be, sitting in the water in tandem.
"Emil," the boy replies, cocking his head in that way like a bird again. He says the words in the strange way he's said everything so far, in a sort of melodic tone, but this time it's amplified, like the musical ringing of bells, sort of like the rise and fall of footsteps of a crowd of people rushing. Even though it's not crowded here often.
"Mine's Kar-Long," he responds.
"Kar-Long," the boy replies, the syllables twisting in a strange way they've never done when said by anyone else he knows before, heavy in the air, and he thinks that he likes the way his name sounds in Emil's mouth, something that seems like it might become a familiar thing.
-
Halfway through lunch, Emil suddenly starts coughing, his face flushed red and hunched over the dining table a bit.
"Are you okay?" Both Teacher and Kar-Long look over, worried for his new friend.
"It's a bit-" Emil coughs, "Hot. Spicy."
"Ah," Teacher says, "Maybe you're not used to it. That's alright. Although this is not quite that much of a spicy dish..." He looks over at the fish in the boy's plate.
Kar-Long sniggers. It's a little funny, watching his new friend flush-faced at such a simple dish like he's only seen toddlers do.
"What are you laughing for!" Emil protests. "It's not funny,"
"It's a little funny," he laughs, and hands him a cup of water.
-
After lunch, they sit back on the beach and watch everybody else go about their lives, the farmers tending to the crops and the fishermen wading out at sea in comfortable silence, to a scene familiar to both of them.
It feels like a heartbeat, a thread connecting him to a future, something that holds with him permanently, although he's not sure what yet.
They point out people that look funny together, sniggering at their outfits, the way they swim, and go silent and eavesdrop together when they see couples arguing and try to guess the topic of disagreement.
"Maybe she stole his breakfast," Emil suggests, from where he's sat on a rock at Kar-Long's side.
"Maybe." He pauses. "I think I heard something about eggs. Shh." The yelling starts up again, and they eavedrop together, trying to catch any words from the conversation.
The sun's setting, slowly, afternoon blue fading into a glassy lavender dusk. The beach turns into a colder blue, and they sit in the waves together again.
"I think I have to go home now." Emil says.
"Oh." He tries to hide his disappointment.
"I'm sorry. But maybe we can play together again?"
"Mm!" Kar-Long's smile lights back up at that. Reassured, Emil walks back away with the shore.
"I hope I see you again!" Kar-Long calls to the disappearing figure. It feels like a promise that he's sure, although he doesn't know why, will come true, like something you just feel will happen. He's sure Teacher was right.
"I hope I see you too!"
~fin.~