Desperate Homecoming

[Leyland Lamond]

The ship ebbed, tilting over rolling waves in a gentle rocking motion, her towering form stalled in the lack of decent winds. White sails flapped listlessly, the rigging quiet in the endless stillness of the ocean. The hull of the H.M.S Ardent was battered, the wood cracked and peeling as she moved back and forth, recovering from the previous night’s onslaught.

It was quiet.

The warm body of the sun kissed the horizon, blanketing the endless view with soft light. Only trails of clouds resided in the sky, the leftovers from the angry torrent that bombarded the ship and her crew in the terrible hours before.

Leyland stood on the quarterdeck, his forearms resting against the polished railing. His eyes were tired, the storm taking a toll both on his mental and physical well-being. Blazing red hair flapped lazily around his face, moving like a flame against his tanned skin. He focused on the calm waters, his thoughts mimicking their movements and causing his auburn brows to crease.

They had barely survived the night. The anger of the storm had tossed the Ardent around as though she were nothing more than a matchstick. Winds with ripping force had torn long tears into the sails, leaving them with less than half of their original power. Mother Nature’s angry hand had struck the mizzenmast from its place, killing two of Leyland’s sailors in its decent. They had buried the two of them within the oceans arms this morning, committing their bodies to her care so that she may carry them to peace.

Leyland sighed, shutting his eyes against the beauty of the sunrise. Every time he closed them, he would see her face, her long dark hair and her delicately pointed ears. The twinkling mischief in her eyes haunted him like a never-ending dream that crept into wakefulness. Duty had taken him away from her, to the sea. He had fought so hard for her love, only to leave. Yet even after all those years, those stops in various ports, he had remained loyal to her, the memory of her ever-beating heart pushing him forward.

When he opened his eyes, his gaze trailed over the silhouette of a city beginning to take form in the distance. He pushed himself from the railing, a ripple of excitement running through his form.

“Johnson!” He called to the man tending the shrouds beside him, “Get the men. Try to get those sails under control. We need to catch whatever breeze we can. This ship needs repairs lest we risk her sinking and we have almost reached our destination.”

Rhauth, please bless us with enough wind to push forward.

Leyland looked again to the horizon, the sun bathing his body in warmth. The city-scape lay before him, not two days travel away.

Cear.

[Leyland Lamond]

She infuriated him! Here he was, a veteran sailor who had faced nearly fatal storms, completely and absolutely unhinged by Myriah. She got into every part of him, until he was both angry and elated at the same time. He wasn’t expecting to see her face when he returned. He was certain she had left for good, moved on to a place where she could truly be free.

Leyland had grown used to his life at sea. The endless ocean filled his eyes day in and day out. The storms gave him a challenge, and the calm mornings comfort. He worked with the sea, for it was a power he could never tame, but only seek to safe passage within its embrace. The ocean became his constant companion, the ship his avenue on that long and unpredictable path.

He shut his eyes, his hands folded around a mug as he sat at the bar. The scene still played over in his mind. He watched the mizzenmast creak and groan in the winds, the tension growing until its wood could no longer bear the brunt of the storm’s onslaught. The screams of his men hardly had a chance to be realized as the mast crashed into the deck. The sound was sickening. The crushing of bone and tearing of flesh is enough to turn the most hardened sailor’s stomach, especially when those taken were known to him. It’s much easier to watch an enemy fall in battle, or some unknown, then to see those you struggled with taken so easily, as if they were nothing more than a speck of dust in the ocean’s angry eye.

The red-haired sailor sighed, exhaling deeply as he opened his eyes to view the liquid swirling in his mug. It was Myriah’s presence that stirred him from his ale-induced thoughts. When he viewed her he had realized that she was his ocean. Someone he could love, but never hope to control or tame. She could easily hew his heart if she had so wished it. He was simply a ship, tossing and turning on the waves of her love, never knowing fully which direction it would take him.

He had growled at her. She had thrown his drink across the room and called him an ***. He had challenged her, asked her why she wanted to stay if the urge to run was so strong. He would grow old, and she would easily outlive him.

Myriah had stared him down, eyes burning with an intensity he didn’t fully understand. She had wanted him to give her a reason to stay, to not run. Her words rolled against him in a torrent until he finally gave in, wrapping her in his arms and doing what he did best, sail. He was in for the voyage of his life, rolling in the arms of a hurricane.