Love was not dispensable; often times reusable but one could never throw it away. In the case of romantic love it was easiest to reinvent yet somehow the hardest to climb away from, Niarahi mused, long fingers dangling through her {auburn} hair. Her unbound mane tossed across her face, blown back each time but the churning winds. Love was much the same way, she clucked silently to herself, always coming back to blind one to reality. In all truth, Niarahi had little time to think of love; there were dangers aboard, terrors on the sea and nightmare fhants {?} out in the western {eastern if coast is switched} desert. Along the coast were the only safe havens. Because the shores were so steep, even the perils of the great waves and winds could were unable to damage the shoreline settlements.  Out in the deserts, the An´rā-kû had not been awarded such protection. But the passing wiya’tides wore down coastal settlement after settlement. Bustling centers became ghost {fhant} villages, the An´rā-kû had traveled north and the sea’s fingers had closed in tighter, ready to strangle this land. Hăhv-ańièl was the last steady candle before the unnatural storm.