He feels her, this human stormwitch that answers his call. Now that he is close, he can tell she is not his kind. He can tell she is small, weak--though not as weak as many--and landbound.
But she speaks to him.
She hears him.
He sings for her, sings all his loneliness and rage and sorrow. He sings his aching for companionship, his urge to raise younglings of his own, his wish to teach the stormsongs to others. He sings his disappointment and grief that no one has answered his calls until now. He sings his confusion that the others of his kind ignore him so profoundly.
To his shock, she sings with him.
He feels her song against his skin, in the brush of the water against him and the push of the air pressure over him. He throws himself into the air and crashes back to the waves, seeing the lightning flicker over him and laughing to himself at the spike of delight he feels from her. He shows himself to her and feels her awe and--yes, even love.
And when he thinks he is at the end of his surprise, she changes his song.
And everything else changes with it.