The Broken Coast had begun to almost resemble a home to Morpheus. Or, at least, it was so closely tied to his charges that he could rarely wander farther inland before coming near the surf once more. He had wondered if it said something of his charges, that so many stumbled onto the wet sand, pushed by gentle waves that pulsed luminescent blue. Or if it said something of him, that he was given so many lost souls to guide, when he himself was much the same.

Not that he thought often of his memory loss anymore. It was an old part of him, a skin he’d grown used to. It bothered him as little as the horns upon his crown did – but sometimes he remembered it, in the dark of night, when the dreams of many called to him.

Or when he dreamed – whispers of a forgotten story being told to him. He still hadn’t reached the end of that story, could barely remember it upon waking. But he thought it of some importance. A god with dominion over dreams could not so easily ignore the vessels of his power.

But he could not force the dreams to bend to his will, for all that he might do so with others – divinity was a tricky thing to work, even for a god. And the dreams that he deemed so important were steeped with it, making them flighty and unwieldy, as easily startled as a young doe.

No, with the knowledge unwilling, he had to instead turn his mind to other tasks – like greeting his newest charge.

As he had done before, his long limbs carried him in a bouncing trot along the surf, white paws throwing up scattering blue droplets that shone in the moonlight. The cool of the surf was pleasing after a sweltering day.

He continued on his journey until he spotted the newcomer – sandy-pelted, sand-soaked, almost a part of the ground – until Morpheus saw those mismatched eyes, and something like a smile worked itself across his lips.

Pretty, he thought, and he slowed as he came closer, tail hung loose behind him in a banner of neutrality, ears pitched forward but not to the point of aggressiveness. And his voice was the sweet serenade of wind across the water as he came to a stop a few steps from the other, respecting his personal space.

“Hello,” he said, with something like amusement in the lilt of his voice. “So you are my newest charge.”

And then, because the wolf seemed uncertain, eyes darting about, he added more kindly, “You are safe here. Do not fear.”


-----------------

He carries himself like royalty.

A pauper, posturing like a king – Morpheus’ mouth curled into a gentle smile, pleasant to the other’s ferocity. Compared to some of the others he’d met, this one’s bark seemed far worse than his bite. Or, at least, Morpheus was fairly certain he could escape the other’s grasp before he’d even begun to move.

Or, considering the starkness of his ribs, he might well faceplant as soon as he lurched after the god. So Morpheus stood his ground, still relaxed compared to the other’s defensive stance.

“You look hungry,” he said kindly, taking no offense to the other’s caustic words. “Shall I fetch you a meal?”

He was not a fisher, but seabirds were languid at night, nesting and blinded. And he could follow their dreams, find them sleeping peacefully. The resultant meal would be mostly feathers, but the other looked like he’d eat anything he could get.

And, because he felt it would be rude to completely ignore the other’s question, he said at last, “This is not the afterlife, but this is a place of gods. I am a God of Dreams – and you shall be a god as well, in time.”

He looked away, across the coastline, then glanced back at the wolf. “So, shall we talk further over dinner?”

Morpheus continued to smile, not reacting to the other’s sudden growling stomach beyond a slight twitch of the lips.

Poor thing, he thought. Made a silent promise to catch a pair of nesting birds, so that the wolf’s belly would stop rebelling against its master so openly.

His words had their intended effect – when the wolf spoke again, his voice was deprived of much of its earlier venom, defanged at the promise of a meal.

“Then excuse me for a moment,” he said. He dipped his head in a quick farewell, an empty gesture that nevertheless lent an element of nobility to his persona.

Then he was off, turning on his paws and heading further inland, his white coat faintly illuminated by the blue cast of the surf and the moon’s watery light.

Sleep, he commanded as he wandered away from the other, directing his powers toward the birds he stepped amongst. They nested in cracks between the great heaving stones that littered the beach. His claws clicked as he leapt atop a flat stone, peering over its edge to find a mated pair bedded down.

Only sleep, no pain.

Carefully, he leaned over the edge, his mouth clasping velvet-soft around one of the slumbering creatures’ neck. He carefully arranged his fangs and pressed down where he knew the spine to be – there was a sharp twitch, the final shudder of a life extinguished – and the creature went limp.

He lifted it from the nest carefully, laying its slack form between its paws before he returned to the remaining bird. His jaws dispatched it in much the same way, and he delicately laid the birds atop each other, until they were arranged in such a way he might carry both at once.

His mouth stretched wide around their bulk as he turned on his heel and headed back the way he had come. They were each worth a few good mouthfuls, and one would certainly dampen the wolf’s hunger, smooth the edge until he was able to catch a true meal.

Hopefully he could withstand the fishy smell – Morpheus knew inland wolves were the type to turn their noses up at the sea, unable to see the bounty within. And these birds had been born and bred to the sea – seagulls, he remembered their names, with a suddenness that tugged at his lips in another small smile.

And then he was returned to his companion, gently depositing one before the odd-eyed wolf, settling back on his haunches before dropping into a full crouch, his own bird laid between his front paws as he began to nuzzle through the feathers upon its belly, seeking the most succulent meat.

“Please, eat,” he said. And then his own head was bowing, his fangs pressing between the bird’s plumage, ripping a mouthful off before he darted his head back in to catch and tear through the tender skin, the scent of blood filling the air as he gulped down his first bite.

“As I said, I am a God of Dreams – Morpheus. And you are here because there is some stirring of divinity within you. Something that flows through your blood, that emanates from your being – that would allow you too to ascend to godhood, should you so wish it.”

He continued to tease out slivers of flesh, prolonging his meal. As a god, he truly had no need for sustenance, but that did not mean the pleasures of taste and consumption and company were lost to him.