Page 18 of Rainse
“I haven’t named it.”
“You should,” she said. “If you live somewhere long enough, it deserves a name.”
“Then you name it,” I said.
She thought for a moment, the corners of her mouth twitching. “How about… Coconutopia?”
I blinked. “That sounds like a disease.”
She laughed again—louder this time—and I decided I could live with that sound for the rest of my life.
“All right then,” she said once her laughter subsided. “You pick a name.”
“Me?” I pretended to think deeply. “How about… Shell Island?”
“Too obvious.”
“Fish Rock?”
“Uninspired.”
“Storm Refuge?”
“Dramatic.”
I rubbed my chin. “Kelp Haven?”
She gave me a flat look. “You just named it after your body.”
“It’s a feature, not a theme,” I protested.
She snorted. “You really need to work on your marketing.”
“Fine.” I pointed toward the sea, where the sunlight scattered in shards across the surface. “Sunwater Isle.”
Her expression softened. “That’s… actually beautiful.”
“You approve?”
“I do.” She looked out over the water again, smiling faintly. “It fits. It feels like a pause between worlds. Somewhere that isn’t quite one thing or the other.”
“A pause,” I echoed. “Yes. That’s what this place is.”
She tilted her head. “Do you have a word for that? In your language?”
I hesitated. “There’s a Finfolk term—vairu’ath. It means a quiet space between currents.”
“Vairu’ath,” she repeated slowly, shaping the sounds carefully. “I like that better than Coconutopia.”
“So do I.”
The sea breeze lifted her hair, scattering a few strands across her face. She brushed them away absently, still gazing at the horizon. “Well then, vairu’ath it is. Our island.”
“Our island,” I murmured. The bond pulsed quietly in agreement, a heartbeat beneath my skin. I felt it echo in the water, carrying her name out into the waves. For the first time since I’d left my brothers, the ocean around me felt like home.
8
Verity
