Title: Touching a Ghost
Age Rating: U
BETA: Un-BETA'd, due to its short, random nature.
Summary: A random drabble I did based off a p+i prompt, though this is a re-written version.

Opal sat alone, stirring her now stone-cold coffee, lost in thought. The café moved in a whirl of colour and sound, people going about their lives in fast-forward, while she moved in slow motion. Sealed off in her bubble of silence, of peace, she saw a face before her that was so very, very different than those of the others in the room. It was a beautiful face, scarred and lined from a million betrayals, but somehow more glorious for the fact that it had made it through all of them. This was a face that had seen the rain, and now shone in sunlight. It was a face she knew in her dreams, a face that looked at hers in equal parts adoration and intense, heartbroken longing.

Her features mimicked his, sadness and love aging her face long beyond her youthful years. His ghost-hand reached out its elegant, musical fingers and her small hand followed, until their fingertips met in the middle. A tear rolled down her cheek, as the beautiful image shattered before her eyes, her fingers still extended, reaching out to thin air.

Title: Chance (Part 2)
Age Rating: U
Realm: Human
BETA: wikkid.x
Summary: Based on this awesome deviation by a very talented artist. I hope I changed enough about her that I can claim Chance as my own, but that was a starting point.

Part One

“The trio looked at the husband, and a shiver ran down his spine. But his sword did not waver; he
stood firmly on the forest floor.

“Demons!” he half-gasped, in fear and astonishment.

The blonde girl laughed again, and this time the sound chilled him to the bone.

“The correct term is Fearey.” She corrected him, “Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Chance. These are my sisters, Fate,” she gestured to the dark-haired woman, “and Fortune.” She indicated the fire-woman on her right.

“Immortals!” His eyes grew even wider as he finally saw the raw power of the women before him. Within their eyes he could see the turn of millennia, and it chilled him to the bone. He shuddered uncontrollably. Chance smirked.

“I believe so, yes.” She smiled again, beckoning one red-tipped finger to the wife who stood still behind her husband. The woman walked forward, dream-like, not hearing her husband’s cries for her to come back.

“She shall not be harmed.” Chance tried to placate him, in her silky-smooth voice, and the husband fell silent.

“Hello, my dear.” Chance greeted the woman as she would a small child, kind and gentle. “That’s a beautiful pendant you have there. Would you like to give it to me?” Mutely, the wife removed her necklace, placing it in waiting hand of Chance. “Good!” the Faerey woman smiled, and waved her hand over the mortal woman’s face.

She fell limply to the ground.

“What have you done?!” the husband, fell to his knees at his wife’s side, cradling her head in his lap.

“Just sleeping, alas. It is not her fate to die at my hand at this time.”

“What do you want with us?” the husband growled, angrily, tenderly setting his wife’s head upon the earth. “Why did you have to hurt her to get it?” He rose to his feet and advanced on the women, snarling in anger, the women didn’t flinch. Chance raised her hand, and, without batting an eyelid, forced the husband to fly backward, crashing into a tree before sliding tot he ground.

The blonde gave a cruel chuckle, as the husband raised his head and glared at her, hatred and anger boiling in his veins.

“We want… justice.”

“What?” the husband rose, shakily, to his feet, bewildered by the simple answer.

“You have entered our land, burned the fallen boughs of our sacred grove, and disturbed the spirits of this wood. Usually we allow travellers to ride through our home in peace, but your wife overstayed her welcome when she wandered off the beaten path and stole one of our beautiful poppies.” She looked him in the eye, and leaned down, slowly, removing the pale flower from his wife’s hand. “Now she must pay the price. Her life magic will fuel the glade’s power and allow more poppies to grow…” she placed her ashen hand upon the wife’s forehead, and the colour slowly began to drain from the poor woman’s rosy cheeks.

    “NO!” her husband cried in anguish, launching himself from the forest floor and towards his sleeping wife. Chance smiled again and rose to her feet, tipping her head to look up into the man’s eyes.

“There is, of course, another option.”

“What is it? Tell me how to save her and I will do anything you ask!”

“A game.”

“A… game?”

“Yes. A simple game of cards or dice.”

“But… how can I possibly hope to win with Fate, Fortune and Chance all pitted against me?”

Chance laughed again, “Oh, well, aren’t you a clever one?” she contained her laughter and continued, “Never fear, what would be the fun in the game if it were pre-destined? Fate has decided the winner already, but she will not necessarily pick her dear sister. And Fortune, as all men know, is fickle. Who knows, she may have taken a liking to you!”

The man stood up, and gazed into the haughty, distant face of Fate, and the half-smiling, enigmatic face of Fortune, and could not read any emotion on either one.

“What game?” He squared his shoulders, bravely, facing Chance without showing his terror. She was about a foot shorter than him, slim and petite, and yet he knew, had experienced already, her awesome power.

He did not want to cross this woman again.

“A game of dice, double or nothing.” Chance said, still smiling her cruel smile.

“The penalties?”

“You win, and you leave our wood in peace. With your wife safe and well at your side.”

“And if I lose?”

“As I said, double or nothing. You lose, and your life belongs to me.”

The brave husband knew he had no choice. He could not carry on, knowing that he chose his own life over his wife’s. “I accept.”

Chance chucked, “Of course you do.” She conjured, out of thin air, a small pair of blood red dice that sparkled in the sunlight.

“Evens, I win, Odds, I lose.” She smiled, once more, and rolled the dice.  The husband held his breath as they tumbled, slowly, along the grassy floor, somehow unhindered by the grass or dirt.

They finally came to rest, light still shining through their crystalline surface.

“How tragic,” muttered Chance, “I guess my sister is more loyal than she appears.”

“Fine then. Kill me.” The husband stood, tall and proud, as a man awaiting his executioner. But Chance's face had lost some of it's malicious cruelty, and her gaze was thoughtful now.

“Your life is mine… to do with as I please…” The words were slow, as if her quick mind was thinking something through thoroughly before making her decision.

“What?”

“Your wife’s life too. Maybe I was hasty in condemning her…” The thoughtfulness on her face was suddenly replaced by a sunny smile, and it was clear she had made her decision.

“Will you let us go, then?”

“Oh, of course not! But I do have another idea, one you may find slightly more appealing. It was not your wife’s fate to die at my hand, this morn, you know that. Neither is it yours. She sleeps, safe now until the clock strikes noon.”

“And then what? What will you do to me?”

“You. Hmmm, yes…” Fate leaned down and whispered into her smaller sister’s ear. “Yes! You will obey my commands, as your life is mine, to give or to take. Your wife will remain in slumber, and one day, if you please me, you shall be reunited.”

“What? No!” the husband leaned down over his wife, and tried to gather her into his arms. She disappeared as he was holding her, melting into the air.

“Oh no,” Chance giggled, “not unless I say so.”

“Where is she? What have you done with her?!”

“She is safe. Far from here, but safe.”

“I refuse to serve a hag who tortures innocent women. Kill me, if you wish, but spare her!”

“Well then, Fortune has blessed you, hasn't she?" She smirked slightly at her own joke, "You will not be subjected to serving me. But my half-brother, who dwells in the mountains of the north, is in need of a servant. You shall serve him, until I release you. You will obey him as if he were me.”

With a small, almost flippant gesture, Chance cast her spell, and the husband’s world went black. He was falling, falling through space. And soon, the old life was a dream life. There was nothing but falling, and the sound of magic and hopelessness around him.
 
*****************

The crone looked up again, as she finished her story.

"But Grandma, what happened next?" asked the child on her right, a small blonde boy with a defiant expression.

"He is still, to this day, Kashinava's servant."

"But it's not real! Give it an ending!" 

"How do you know it's not real?"

"I, um..."

"See? Magic exists, boy, get used to it. I'll let you know if he ever gets freed, okay?"

"You know him?" A girl on her left gasped in astonishment.

"Know him...? Yes, I suppose I do... anyway, time for us all to sleep huh?" And from there the conversation drifted to children shepherded to bed, and discussions of the harvest and other village
matters. Far, far from magic and Feareys.

But for the crone, standing silent amongst the crowd, there was no escaping the magic and peril of her stories. And at that moment, the blonde boy glanced up at her, and for a moment, she was not a white-haired, stooped story-teller. She was dark-haired and tall, dressed in a gown of blue lace. The face of Fate stared back at him, smiling confidentially with her old, old eyes.


There, finished! That's the two longer, finished stories posted, so for a while it'll probably be shorter, more random things than this.

Please, leave a comment in the little box just down there.

Title: Chance (Part 1)
Age Rating: U
Realm: Human
BETA: wikkid.x
Summary: Based on this awesome deviation by a very talented artist. I hope I changed enough about her that I can claim Chance as my own, but that was a starting point.

The firelight flickered in the centre of the circle, lighting every villager’s face with the same reddish, ruddy glow.

“Tell us a story, Grandma!” A dark-haired child tugged at the crone’s skirts, looking up pleadingly into her sparkling blue eyes. Grandma Garvneya was known throughout the villages of the West Country for her masterful storytelling. She could create the voice of a small girl or a mighty warrior and never falter the pace of her story; she could weave tales of adventure and magic as easily as a girl might weave a daisy chain on a summer’s day. She was always greeted, as she hobbled into town, with the finest produce and the comfiest accommodation. To everyone she was just Grandma Garvneya, the storyteller, a travelling legend. 

“Yeah, Grandma! Story!” The other children joined in with their friend, pleading with the old woman. She finally raised her hands and nodded, causing the children to cheer in unison and curl back into their mothers’ arms in preparation of the wise woman’s tale.   

“Yes, my children, I will tell you a tale. A tale of magic and peril, of love and enchantment. Yes, I will tell you a tale…”
 
“Once upon a time, in a place far from here, a husband and his wife, travellers by nature, lost their way on a cold, dark night. They were forced to ride bareback through a fierce storm, alone and scared in the strange forest.. Their saddles and possessions had been stolen or destroyed; their clothes were ripped and torn. They searched desperately for a place to stay for the night, a place to lay their weary heads and await the return of the sun.

“Finally through the mists and rain of the storm, they beheld a small cave. They made their eager way towards it, their horses exhausted by the hardships they had faced that long, cold day.
They slept a night in the cave, and when the morning came, felt far more refreshed than either had in months. Their camp had been untouched by robbers or animals, and they briefly thanked the Spirits for their good fortune. They then packed up, and rode out into the sunlit forest, leaving the small cave far behind them.

Now, it so happened that, in their haste to set back out on their long journey, the wife had forgotten her necklace in the cave. She only noticed after they had been riding for over two hours, as she adjusted her riding cloak. She searched her pockets frantically, but to no avail. The pendant was gone, and she told her husband so. He refused to let them turn back for it, and though its loss grieved her greatly, she agreed. She continued on with a heavy heart, and for another week they rode over hill and over vale, across the vast sunflower fields and the dwarvian plane far, far to the south of here.

Finally, after many nights camped out in the open air, they reached the Glades of Light, on the Eastern coast. They knew, as all wise travellers do, that one must be very careful in those woods. For the magic that sustained an Elfin civilization for over a thousand years still lies within the trees and the earth itself, and, though those elves of old are long since gone, their immortal Faerie cousins have come to inhabit the area.

The pair rode swiftly but cautiously, and made their camp fires only with dead branches and the leaves they found on the ground. They did not dally in the glades and clearings they found themselves in, but instead moved quickly on, hoping as they did to reach their destination within the month.

But, after two more days under the canopy of beech and elm, there dawned a day of such beauty and light that the wife was utterly entranced, and she begged her husband to allow her just one hour amongst the trees. He tried to refuse, he told her of the dangers that lurked in that so innocent-seeming forest, of the many unfortunate travellers who had gone missing within its borders. She cried with the desperation to be alone with the trees, with nature; she told him that she would surely die if he did not let her go.

Eventually, he agreed, upon the condition that he would accompany her, sword in hand, the whole time.

They walked for a quarter of an hour, hand-in-hand, the leaves above them dappling the light and turning the forest into a world of gold and jade. The wife swore that she had never felt such peace, as she picked a single, beautiful white poppy, and held it to her nose, inhaling its scent.

But her husband was wary; he was certain that something far darker than the birds and flowers around them lurked in the shadows, behind this idyllic façade. Foolishly, he kept his fears to himself; his trusted wife had never led him astray before, after all. If she felt so strongly that she had to be here, then it must have been fated that they would arrive on this beautiful morn.

By chance, a glimmer of something blue caught the corner of his eye. He turned for a closer look, but his wife had seen it first, and ran forth, crying in delight. She removed the object from its perch on the branch, and held it tenderly in her pale hands.

“I thought I’d lost it.” She turned to face him, and he saw that it was a beautiful, gleaming necklace. The same necklace that she had lost in the cave, days before. Her face, which had held a kind of dreamy wonder only seconds before, was now as wary as his. The sapphire pendant gleamed upon her collarbone.  

“And indeed you did, my dear,” a voice, smooth and sweet as honey, came from behind them. They turned, slowly, and beheld a large, moss-covered clearing with three beautiful women stood in the centre. The first was dark and proud, resplendent in deep, blue-black lace, her ebony hair waving and loose. The second was, in contrast, bright and vibrant, in a tighter green swirled dress with emeralds threaded into her wild red hair, spiralling into two high coils upon her head. The last was pale and blonde, her hair wild in a pale golden halo dressed in a vibrant gown of crimson silk. It was she who spoke again. “But we were lucky enough to find it and return it to you.”

“How did you know it was mine?” the wife half whispered, staring at the trio in fear. The blonde woman laughed, a light, tinkling laugh.

“But we know everything about you, silly!” she continued to giggle, as if the question was too ridiculous to contemplate. Her friends remained silent, their beautiful faces emotionless. “Now, wouldn’t it be proper for you to thank us for our kindness?” she stretched out her hands, like a mother teaching her child to walk, and the woman’s voice was so enticing and beautiful that the wife took a few steps forward.

Her husband cried out, and took his wife wound her waist, pulling her behind him. He raised his sword in the women’s direction.

“Stay away from her!” he commanded, still shielding his wife with his body. The blonde girl laughed again, and looked the man full in the face. Right then, by strange coincidence, the sun hit the clearing, lighting her dead-pale face and igniting a fire her eyes. He recoiled at the sight, flinching backward. For the beautiful girl’s eyes were of crimson fame; they blazed with power and might.

Her sisters, for indeed, the resemblance was staggering now, in the clear light of the sun, looked up too. The one on the left was dark, her eyes were indigo blue, almost black; and her sister on the right, whose hair shone like a thousand flames had eyes of the purest emerald. All three radiated pure power, and the man suddenly felt that the small blonde was right to laugh at his sword. A blade of man could never combat these three, no matter how experienced or skilful the swordsman.”
 
********

The crone broke off, and grinned at the children around her. The older, braver ones had shifted closer and closer during the story and now sat back at her feet, their mouths open in expressions of mixed fear and excitement. Their younger siblings were either asleep or wrapped in their mother’s skirts, scared of the story and yet longing for more. The crone laughed.

“What happened next, Grandma? The small boy who had requisitioned the story was now sat back at her side, looking at her in awe and curiosity.

“Why, are you scared for our brave heroes?” 

“But Grandma, there’s only one hero.”

“What do you mean?” the old woman was curious now. She peered at the boy in puzzlement.

“The husband’s the hero.” the child explained, patiently, as if it was obvious.

“But surely his wife can be heroic? Don’t underestimate her simply because she’s been a bit thick so far.” The crone knew that she should continue the story, but she never could resist a debate.

“But she’s a girl!” the boy protested. Some of the adults in the circle laughed at his adamant statement, the crone with them.

“Do you want the story?” she asked, “Because if that’s how you feel…”

“No, no, I want the story!” he cried, indignantly.

“Well then, stop interrupting.”

The boy dutifully closed his mouth, and leant back to allow her to continue.


Woo! Part One posted! This story was originally one long one, but it's around seven pages, so I've split it up.

Please read&review! 

A/N: Okay, as I said last night, I'm posting my first story on here today:

Title: The Stowaway
Age Rating: U
Realm: Human
BETA: wikkid.x
Summary: Based on the song 'The Stowaway' from the Doctor Who Series 3 Soundtrack. It's kinda long, so I apologize, most things on here are probably going to be shorter.

When summer ends on the Lilai coast, the sunsets are amazing. The setting sun sets the sky and the water on fire, and the clouds are turned the same pink as the flowers for which the island was named. It is both a blessing and a tragedy that many never see this sight; at that time the harvest has just begun, and communities have better things to do than to admire the beautiful scenery. It is a time of peace, when the chaos of human life can be put on hold and nature can take centre-stage. If it became an event, a social occasion, I believe that the aura of wonder and serenity would be lost forever.
 
It was this sight, this amazing beauty, which drew me to the North, so late in the year. It was the first time in years that I had sailed north of the Dark Forests, so I planned to be there for a while. I dropped anchor on the first of September, and planned to stay through the autumn, just off the coast of the island, before sailing south again for the winter.
   
I arrived in the capital, coming onto land for the first time in weeks, and stopped to take it all in. The castle, ancient and sandstone, shines on the hill, on the inland side of the town, where the great Kings and Queens of The Human Realm have ruled for eons. Of course, after my day of sightseeing and buying supplies from the famous markets and shopping halls, I found my way to a tavern. I reckon it’s something in the blood of all sailors that somehow, we always end up in taverns and bars. And you can’t fight nature, can you?
   
Most of the men in there were really rather surprised to see a southern woman drinking in the bar. It’s understandable, I suppose, southerners are rare this far North, although, Tarwyn being the capital, they aren’t as rare here as they are in the East. My appearance probably shocked them as much as anything. Southern women often wear long linen scarves around their heads, as there is a lot of sand from the desert in the south, and they keep our eyes and hair safe. Years at sea, however, had prompted me to abandon the long, linen dresses I had grown up with, as well as the traditional scarves. I wore my hair short around my shoulders, in defiance of the traditions that forbade a woman to cut her hair, cotton trousers, black boots and a white shirt. Generally male clothing but fitted enough that I looked feminine. I was always terrified of forgetting my gender at sea, with no conventions to follow.
  
 Of course, as I explained to my friend Chalia when we had met up earlier that day, (because I don’t come inland very often, I wanted to get all my business sorted in one go) I really started wearing more flattering clothing after an incident in the midwinter. I first met Chalia a few years back, when I moored on Lilai for the first time. She told me about the sunsets, and since then, she has become my only real, close friend. We see each other whenever we can, and she fills me in on her life up at the palace (she’s Lady-in-waiting to Lady Sunshine, the Queen Mother no less), while I tell her about my travels. We had got together that afternoon in a café off one of the market streets, which is one reason why I had found my way to the tavern. Chalia was my best friend, but she was far too genteel for me to be knocking back ale around her. I needed a stronger drink than tea.
   
We talked of many things, that late winter afternoon. Chalia was expecting her second child with her husband Ganyar, a stable hand up at the palace. She says that if it’s a girl she will name it after me, although Dorindah is an odd name for a Northern woman. She told me about the new Queen’s Other Side friends, and how the world was to change dramatically. She showed off the new, light-blue trousers that one of the Queen's friends had designed for the maids and ladies to wear under their dresses, which apparently made work far easier. I told her about the stowaway.

************************************************************************

It was midwinter, I had moved from the Lilai coast about three weeks ago, and was sailing my way down to the capital. I had stopped for the night near the Light Woods, as the weather was almost always fine there, just as you were almost guaranteed storms if you stopped near the Dark Forests. The night was as clear as it had ever been, albeit somewhat chilled. I was checking up on the supply status; for some reason my stocks of drinking water and vegetables were depleting rapidly. I dearly hoped it wasn’t rats; rodents are so hard to get rid of on board a ship, and although most sailors generally ignored them, there was something I found menacing about their yellowed teeth and rough, matted fur.
  
I entered the room quietly, intending to ensure that I had enough food to last me a few wore weeks. I walked further and further into the storeroom, and realized how long it had been since I had properly gone through my inventory. Most of this stuff was rope and wood and spare barrels; the ship had been stocked enough to serve a crew of at least thirty adults when I first started my travels. As I got further and further inside, holding the lantern higher in the darkness, I tripped on a loose plank and I fell, only just catching myself on a barrel of ale. I looked up and saw a cleared area in one of the back corners. I picked up the lantern -which in my fall, I had dropped- and shifted over to investigate.
   
The sight that met my eyes surprised me. In the corner, lay the remains of what looked like a meal, with rats and mice chewing on the crumbs and gnawing on the small amounts of gristle from the meat. Their cold, beady eyes stared back at me accusingly, before they scattered to the corners of the dark room. I observed the few objects that were there, found a few books, a lantern, obviously only recently extinguished, a rather expensive-looking velvet bag and some man's clothing. Burlap sacks had been rolled into a pitiful approximation of a bed, and, reaching down, I felt that they were still warm. Realization hit like a lightning bolt.
  
 I was not alone on my ship. I had a stowaway.

The thought intrigued me more than anything. I should have been angry or scared, but instead I was just amused at the fact that he had gone so long undetected. These feelings made me worry slightly about my sanity, but this was nothing new. I picked up the bag from the floor. It contained some rather expensive-looking jewelery, some strange gold coins, a small compass and some unfamiliar maps. A traveller, it seemed.

Finally, I shook the bag even harder, and a small, leather-bound book fell out. I recognized it; it was an old copy of 'Taisteali's Compendium'. This book could be found in any library or educated household, it was all that most people knew of the world beyond the Human borders. Part travelk guide, part fary-tale. So I flicked through it, looking for some clue of who had snuck aboard, and found that there were notes and annotations scribbled in the margins and around the sides of the pages. I pocketed the book, and promised myself I'd read it later: Now, I had a job to do.

My final search concluded that there were no blades or heavy items, or really anything that could be classed as a weapon within the bag, which set my mind further at ease. Unless he had a weapon on his person, my stowaway wasn’t looking for a fight. I stood, and left the room to investigate further.

I didn’t have to search for him for very long. I was walking down the corridor beside the main common room, and there he was, walking towards me, comically trying to make no noise. He tried to run when he saw me, into the common room. Unfortunately for him, the common room has only one door… and I was blocking it.
  
 “You shouldn’t be here, you know.” I said, mildly, leaning against the door frame. His startled expression almost made me laugh, but I clamped down on that urge. He was a rather tall man, taller than me at any rate, with brown hair and dark eyes.  His clothing was simple, a loose white shirt and dark trousers, with heavy black boots poking out of the ends. I should have been searching for places where a knife could be concealed, but instead I was looking at his face. He was really rather handsome, I decided, especially with the expression of innocent bewilderment and confusion he wore at the moment. He saw the amusement on my face, and his expression became more guarded and wary.  
  
 “What are you going to do?” He sounded suspicious, stepping back a bit from my poorly concealed smile.
   
“Well, tell you what, seeing as how I’ve already found your belongings, and you don’t seem to have any weapons on you, I’ll give you a chance.”
   
He smiled at that, his stance relaxed slightly and his response, when it came, seemed slightly mocking, but pleased all the same.  “That’s very generous of you, more than most captains would give me. What’s in it for you?”
   
“Well, tell me why you’re here. What made you stowaway on my ship, when you have more than enough gold in that bag of yours to buy a boat of your own? Why would a man risk stowing away on a ship when the crew could have killed him on the spot?”
   
“It’s complicated.”
  
 “My position isn’t. I ought to have thrown you overboard by now, still could, for that matter. So, answer my question, why are you here?”
   
He didn’t answer at first. Instead, he looked about the room. It was a large, domed space, the largest room on the ship, and easily the most formal. I loved this room. The ceiling was painted with scenes of pirates and sea-monsters, mermaids and dolphins. Sometimes, I dragged my bedclothes in here just to stare up at those paintings all night. There was a bar over at one side, further evidence that this ship was meant for a large crew, but I’d cleared the chairs to the side, leaving a large empty space in the centre. He finished his assessment of our surroundings quickly and then turned back to me. He smiled, held out his hand, and said one thing I was most definitely not expecting:
   
“Let’s dance.”
   
“What?” Now I was confused and not a little suspicious.
   
“As you said earlier, I have no weapons amongst my possessions, and nowhere to hide them on my person. If I intended to hurt you, I would have done it already, so where’s the harm in one dance?”
   
“There’s no music.” I was in shock now, so the most obvious objection came to my lips. He laughed slightly and took my hand in his, placing my other on his shoulder, and his own at my hip. He swept us around the room a few times, without saying a word, allowing me to process what was happening. He looked down, straight into my eyes, and I found my heartbeat accelerating. Finally he slowed, simply moving us in a small circle in the centre of the room, swaying to a silent beat, and began his tale.   

“I’m on my way home, which is still a long way from here, on the East side of the country. I have money, as you saw, but it is from a land on the other side of the ocean, so useless here. That’s why I have to borrow, or steal, to get home” His eyes lit up with determination, and he stared into a space for a moment, before his attention returned to me. “I will find a way to get back. I promised Acacia that I would return by her twentieth birthday, and that’s what I’ll do.”
  
 “Who is Acacia?”
  
 “She is my bride, the most beautiful girl in the whole world. She’s waiting for me, back home.” He sighed, and closed his eyes, “I miss her, so much. I can still see her beautiful face, her golden, sunlit hair, the way her green eyes sparkled when she laughed, how she felt I my arms…” he trailed off with a sigh, and while his eyes were closed, I felt a small tear of jealousy and sympathy trail down my cheek. The distracted, peaceful look on his face gave me the belief that he wasn’t really dancing with me at all, in this darkened room, the ocean placid outside. No, he was in a town in the country, with a beautiful blonde smiling up at him, blossoms on the trees.
   
He straightened, after a moment, and smiled down at me. “I’ve roamed all over this land and the next, and now it’s time for me to go home.”  He let go of me, and stepped back. “That is my tale, my fair captain, now, are you going to feed me to the local marine life?” His eyes held a teasing gleam, as I pretended to consider the matter.
  
 “Hmmmm, a story and a dance, in exchange for food and safe passage to the mainland…hmmmm,” I put on a thoughtful expression and tapped my chin with my finger. “Well,” I said after a few seconds, “I do have a few bedrooms to spare, and someone needs to help me navigate the estuary to the Natinah River up to the capital… So, okay, you have a deal.”
   
“Really?!” His grin could have lit up all of Tarwyn, my heart felt like it would burst. I felt myself answering his grin with one of my own, and I can’t say how long we stood there, just smiling and smiling, before, finally, I yawned and said “Right, I’m hauling up the anchor at first light, so I’d better show you to your room.” I turned and walked from the room, down the corridor, to the room two -large- rooms down from mine.
   
Well, I didn’t want him to get the wrong idea, did I?

***

    With two people to help with the sailing and navigation,  my ship reached the estuary within two weeks; as opposed to the month it would have taken me alone. We got to know each other very well over those weeks, and by the time we sailed into the river harbour in the capital, I was beginning to dread our final parting. It made my old life seem so much lonelier, to see it compared to this life of companionship and conversation, it made my heart ache to think about it. But the day drew closer and closer, until, finally, it dawned, bright and clear, and we could see the castle at Tarwyn silhouetted against the sunrise.
   
“Well,” I sighed, “There it is; the capital.”
  
 “Uh huh,” he replied, leaning his arms against the railings on the deck, “There it is, in all its glory.”
   
“Well, what are we waiting for? Do you want to crash into the docks? Come on!” I hurried hum to the rigging, while I brushed away the few tears that had come to my eyes.
   
We parted on the wharf. He’d done the capital on his way west, at the start of his journey, and was anxious to get home. We hugged, for a long time, and when we separated, he held on to my arms and looked me full in the face, mahogany brown boring into my blue. He smiled his heartbreaking smile, and said, “Thank you.”
   
I was so afraid that he was going to leave at that, so I said “For what?”
   
“For the food, for the nice comfy bed, for the company, for not using me as shark-bait.” He kept smiling, and then his expression turned serious. “Can you promise me something, Dorindah? Just one little thing?”
   
“Of course.”
    
He sighed, “Don’t carry on alone. I understand the need for solitude and travel, I’ve done enough of it myself, but I don’t think you understand how lonely, how soul-destroying the dark times can be without someone beside you. So, find someone. If anything, it’ll mean you have an extra set of hands!” He tried for a joke, but I knew he was deadly serious. “Okay? By the next time we meet, and we will meet again, I want you to have found yourself a permanent shipmate. Okay?
   
And although I knew that I would never be able to keep it, and that, in all likelihood, we would never see each other again, I agreed.
   
And then we hugged, one last time, before he walked off the pier, without looking back.

I watched him leave, tears in my eyes, and I reched into my pocket for a tissue. Instead, I found a small, black book. His book, his scribbled-in copy of Taisteali's Compendium.


So now, I sit here in this tavern, months later, drinking to forget unarguably the best two weeks of my life. Every laugh, every smile, every time he got something wrong and we almost crashed, every memory of an evening spent dancing on the deck or in the common room, it all burned, the feeling of loneliness and dread for the coming lifetime of solitude almost too much to bear. But hey, that’s what ale’s for, right?
  
 But I wonder how his journey ended. As I sail on, travelling my lonesome sea, his face still haunts my dreams, in amongst the usual dreams of sea monsters and my old home, those eyes are still there, in the background, watching and smiling. He’s still a stranger, sometimes it’s hard to believe he was even here. He left no trace, nothing; I might as well have dreamed it all. Except for the book. His book, that I will keep until I we meet again... if we meet again.
   
But even though I may constuct elabroate ideas of where he ended up, in my heart I am certain of the truth. He’s home, under the blossoms, lying in the grass with his love beside him, and she is smiling up into his beautiful eyes.


YES! Finally it's posted SOMEWHERE! (Although I know it will be read by all of three people, hey it needed some exercise!)

A/N 2: BTW, Wikkid.X, what do you think of 'Ivy' 's new name? It links in nicely with something else, so I'll keep it. I also fixed the ambiguity of the end line.

Okay, so this blog is so that I can post the stories and stuff that I am most proud of without cluttering up the virtual highway. I'm not going to link to anywhere else from here, but I will link to here form other places... if that makes sense! Mainly this is because I'm terrified of internet-stalkers...

Yeah, enough rambling. I will link to FictionPress, I think, even though I'm deleting what's on there because it's tres crap.

Okay, that's it for now. Oh, and of course, I claim copyright (see 'paranoia' above )