Trix let go and gave himself to the maelstrom. Over and over he tumbled through the waves, above and below. Darkness and light flashed before him. Darkness meant water. Light meant air. Trix concentrated, attempting to breathe only into the light. Even still, every time he opened his mouth, what entered was half water. At first, it tasted of murky rain puddles. Then it became briny, like tears. The sea. Somehow, the sea was coming inland. A tiny part of Trix—the part that wasn't desperate to survive—was overjoyed. He'd never seen the ocean before. Apparently his visit to the seaside was so long overdue that the impatient ocean had packed its bags and come to see Trix instead. How polite the ocean was! Very big and scary, of course, but very kind. Assuming it didn’t kill him in the process…which suddenly seemed a distinct possibility. Another part of Trix—the part that was concerned about the seawater now flooding into his mouth—was sad at the thought that he might never speak again.
