Rush and the wind was brought to life as icy fingers running through her hair, cold hands tugging at her clothes, formless, lifeless lips kissing shivers down her neck, and a wordless whisper in her ear, lonely, longing, and low. Rush and the weak sunlight was a faint caress of warmth across her face and a half-glow of silver through lowered lids. Rush and water swirled over her feet, sweeping grains of sand and shell debris against numb flesh in an onslaught of icy beestings. Rush and stiff toes burrowed deeper in the sand as the current pulled her out. Rush and she felt her breath leave her, rush and she was lost in the smell of the sea and coming storm, rush and she felt the strength of the scent awaken the power within her. Rush and it was as though a second pair of eyes was opening inside her, the lazy, predatory gaze of some great creature blinking slowly into focus.
Rush, rush, rush