"Do you think, beneath the waters, the fish know of our shadows?" she asked, watching the horizon blur.
The cyclops turned, eye half-closed, drifting on silent tides. "Only the waves whisper your name," he replied, voice like distant thunder.
"And where do dreams go when the sun smiles?" echoed another voice, lost within the shell of a conch.
He squints against the sun, a single eye gazing through veils of memory. "They dance with the stars in twilight's embrace."
"Perhaps," said the wind, "the moon has a tale to share with fish who forget their fins."
She laughed, crystalline, a sound that rippled the ether. "Then let us listen, in silence, to the echoes of every breath,"
and so they stayed, two figures cast in shadow and light, beneath the watchful gaze of the solitary moon.