It was not often that Sivain strayed so far from home without Kitzu. The two had been companions for far too long, and the familiarity, at first a forced thing due to its necessity, had grown casual years and years ago. But now he found himself wandering on his own more and more, perhaps stirred to restlessness by the stasis of having finally settled. She had more friends now, and was well-adjusted enough finally to be winsome and carefree among strangers. With that came others who might be trusted to watch over her, if only for a short time. Sivain, who did not care either for strangers or for company, simply drifted along, looking for places of interest in which to be solitary.
The ocean did not usually compel him. Its waters were too listless, and he could not swim well enough to venture deep into the loveless embrace of the water. There was nothing for him to lose himself in, and staring at it and its constant ebbing waves only served to stir his thoughts. But today he was bored, or adventurous, or foolish. Today he found himself alighting on a cliff above the water, and looking at it wistfully. His old haunts were not as satisfying as usual, and he knew he had to return soon. What he wanted was one sweet moment of absolute numbness before that had to happen. Maybe his motives were more desperation, with that in mind.
So he willed away his wings, the last remnants of his other form, and jumped. The moment before he hit the water would have been glorious for some, but Sivain had seen better days, and he had been capable of flight, too, for some time. It was when the surface rose to meet him, pounding his body with brutal force and then dragging him down with cold insistence, that he found his release. Even with the sun so warm, the water was merciless, tugging him this way and that in its frigid depths. When he could hold his breath no longer, he rose again to the surface, gasping for air. He repeated the process--- taking a breath, submerging and staying down as long as he could before rising again for air--- time and time again until, exhausted, he dragged himself onto the beach and lay there, just out of reach of the waves. He didn't care if the sand got into his fine, dark hair, or the way that the slightest breeze made him shiver. That was the point of this form. He was an approximation of a mortal, small and weak and brittle.
When he had come back to himself enough to look around, he noticed another laying on the beach, and tensed. This was not part of the plan. Whyever was he running into strangers so often these days? But he was too tired to get away, and if he kept to himself, perhaps she wouldn't notice him. Perhaps she wouldn't care. Yes, that would be nice.