thommyg’s three word wednesday: gentle, praise, vulgar
rolling with the strong current he relaxed the gentle pull of fear caught in the small center of his stomach. knowing the sea he chanted a song to the sea spirit full of praise for the highs and lows of the tide which fed the village. gazing upon the prize he secured his catch and swam upwards. no longer filled with weariness the end of the day brought him upward to the surface air he was born to breathe. though they thought his appearance especially vulgar his swaying song caught them all in a net of tranquility. given a drink that ceases all thirst and fish that never spoils the village lived peacefully in the place where dawn begins.