In the morning, when Tidus wakes up, he stands on the pier and looks out to the sea. He is not sure why he does this, not when all he sees is the sun breaking on the surf and seagulls wheeling across the sky. He watches them, thinking that they could almost pierce through the blueness and cross through to another world.
He wonders why he is struck by the sudden fancy. Dismissing it, he walks away.
And then he thinks he hears a whistle, high and clear, but when he turns around of course there is no one there.
In the morning, when Yuna wakes up, she runs to the water's edge and stands there, barefoot. Her toes are curled as the waves touch them, causing them to dig into the wet sand. She places two fingers in her mouth and whistles and whistles and whistles, and when she is out of breath she whistles one last time, and she waits there, completely still, listening.
She hears no answer in return.
She watches the play of light on the water but is reminded of the glow of pyreflies instead, and remembers tears and sweet kisses and drowning in them.
She dances to the rainfall and she whirls underneath the starlight, dreaming of a dream that she could not Send away.
He sits on the pier and tilts his head to heavens, letting the rain to soak into him. When he closes his eyes, he thinks he almost remembers: the tip of her staff dipping into the still water; the flare of her skirt as she gracefully twirls; the white of her sleeves burning a trail of afterimages through the night sky.
His face is wet when he opens his eyes and he tells himself it is from the rain.
( Never forget them. )
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