Rosy Skies (Otayuri)

Sunrise

By the time he was eighteen, Yuri had nearly forgotten about the coming-of-age rite of passage entirely. It was just another tedious task to cross off of the list of things he was obligated to do. As Nikolai prepared him, Yuri asked for the dozenth time if he really had to go. He just didn't see a point.

His grandfather sighed.

"It's a tradition as old as our country itself, and will help you gain some perspective," he told Yuri firmly, but lovingly. Yuri scowled, but bit his tongue. He would endure this for his grandfather's sake.

A crown of woven daffodils, chamomile, and sunflowers was placed on his head, the yellows complimenting his flaxen locks. His hair was plaited into a complicated array of braids, some curving over his head and others looping under his ears. They were many different types; a few fishtail, a few with five strands, and a few with four. The braids were pulled into a twisted bun in the back, held in place with a wooden pin, and then tumbled down around Yuri's shoulders. The lower half of his hair was left loose, falling to his knees in soft blonde waves.

Wearing fur-lined clothes, he was prepared to face the sea winds and the cold night air of March. His cloak was embroidered with golden flowers, vines, and flowing shapes; it reminded him of his precious garden, where he would much rather be spending his birthday.

Nikolai took his arm and guided him to a rarely-used side door in the castle so that he could leave without notice. This was a journey meant to be undertaken alone. The king placed a kiss onto his dear grandson's forehead and squeezed his hand before letting go. Yuri thought he might have seen a proud tear glistening in his grandfather's eye as he turned to leave.

He pulled his hood over his head as soon as he was out of sight, and he wrapped his heavy robes more tightly around his body.

The path down to the shore was long, steep, and winding, and Yuri couldn't entirely see his feet because the branches above him were blocking out the moonlight. He kept tripping over rocks and roots and the trailing hems of his own ostentatious garments, mumbling obscenities every time he did.

Crickets loudly chirped their songs, making their presence known even though they couldn't be seen. Yuri jumped when he heard an owl hoot somewhere behind him. He turned around and glared into the darkness; he could have sworn he heard a wolf howl as well, and he hoped that he had been mistaken. The wind shifted the trees, and it sounded as if they were whispering to each other.

Just when he thought that the trail would never end, Yuri found that the forest was growing sparser. The terrain declined sharply, carving a crude path down the cliff. Carefully, he edged his way down. His boots offered some traction along the loose earth, but he kept slipping and having to grab branches to not plummet down. He ruefully felt a flash of pity for whoever had to launder his clothing after this escapade.

With a gasp, he fell down the last foot and landed jarringly on the beach. The wind pushed his hood off of his head and tugged at his hair. The strong scent of salt, seaweed, and brine filled his nose. The sand felt incredibly foreign under his shoes, and he kicked some of it up. Particles blew into his eyes and he furiously rubbed them away.

He took a few steps back and looked up, eyes still burning. High, high above, on the slope of the mountain, he could just make out the shape of his castle and village. They seemed so very far off now, shrouded in fog. He turned around and watched the waves lap against the shore. He couldn't really say that he was impressed. It was just the same view from his window, but closer.

Yuri heard a shout, and he jolted. Quickly, his head whipped around in the direction of the noise. In the distance, he could make out two figures struggling with what looked like a creature of some sort. He started moving towards them, but got the feeling that something was dreadfully wrong and broke out into a sprint. His feet met resistance in the drifts of sand, but upon reaching the damp sand he was able to quicken his progress.