Salt in the air

Waves crashed down the pale white sand, foam danced up the shoreline twinkling in the full moonlight. A man, old but with shoulders as wide as a ship stood knee deep in the water. The ocean washed over the knight's armour like a baptism, cleansing it with each stroke. The wrinkles on his neck twisted like a pit of snakes entwined with one another. This squeezed the black warts that covered his entire neck, from ear to the shiny silver of his armour. The words almost wouldn't leave his mouth but once they did all he could utter was a hushed breathless voice, "we better make camp in the cover of the trees, no telling what manner of creatures comb the beaches at night."

A response was quickly and sharply fired back at the man in a disapproving condescending tone, "we shall do no such thing Easton, right here is where we will lay camp, my coat is wet and my shoes stiff" Lord Sebastian Gale snorted.

The words had come from a thin man dressed in a fine ruby red silk tunic with golden buttons in the shape of bears. White lace spiralled round his cuffs growing into roses with sharp thorns. The bear-skin jacket lay upon this; it was dark brown and the fibres stuck together with sand and salt, making it shimmer in the night like shards of glass. "Tell the men to set up camp here. My quarters are to be posted first so I may retire. The men are to begin preparations for the settlement tomorrow at first light. See to it that they are awake and working by my awakening."

Easton did not look at the young Lord of fear he would see the ever growing distain on his face for the snivelling high born. The assignment to assist the clueless boy in finding new fertile lands which they might farm to feed the starving people of Halfport had tested him from the very first day. "Yes my Lord, I will see that it is done"

It hadn't escaped unnoticed. Sebastian had seen through the old man's attempts, childishly gripping this sliver handled dagger in anger. However, he knew better than to try to intimidate Sir Easton a tower of a man who had in his early years cut battle hardened men down like they were helpless farmers swinging sticks. Instead Seb kicked the sand as he spun and marched out in the direction of a grey gagged rock that might shelter himself from the spray of the icy sea on his porcelain red cheeks. No sooner the Lord slumped beside the barnacle covered stone his eyes began to flicker with exhaustion as the soft glow of touch light grow closer bringing with it the tired men that held them.

When dawn broke over the beach the screech of the gulls could not be heard over the sound of men swinging hammers standing a full head above themselves. They were pegging tents and erecting their tall spires to the sky. Sebastian had not yet woken from the duck feather bed where he had been placed after succumbing to fatigue beside the rock the night prior.