All This & More: Dorian Drake - Samheen 10

[Guest]

Dorian kept below the surface, keeping an eye on the sharks, breathing water. He could not do this as a Selkie, but they had powerful lungs in the seal form; he was grateful for the ring. He drove the gaff at any shark that came too close, until the ropes and nets were secure and he was at last able to head for the boat. She was nearing her death; by controlling the ropes as she tried to roll, they could keep her from pitching around too much as she came to her end.

What the ? He thought vaguely, at the sight of the life float, seen as he looked around yet again for sharks. They threw me a float - there was a good five or six floats for my nets in that thing if I'm any judge, fancy wasting that much cork ! He made for the boat, cautiously, still below the water, alert for attacks. Any shark mistaking him for a meal was going to learn differently. He'd already lost his sandals....he was determined to lose nothing else, especially blood and hide. The powerful webbed toed propelled him through the water toward the boat, but he was wary of the sharks. They were not clever, but they were very determined. He could not begrudge them taking a few mouthfuls of their catch, but certainly didn't fancy being on the menu as well. A good shot to the nose stunned them and sent them away, so that was his target should any venture that close.

He put one hand up, the other holding the gaff, and reached for the side of the boat, giving one last sweeping look for sharks, and then went up to the surface again, spewing out the water he'd been breathing so he could speak and draw in breaths of air. "Get me up !" He said hoarsely, and since he was a Drake, "Don't lose my gaff !" He knew he'd need help to clamber into the boat; it was going from the water he belonged in, to something on top of it.

He did not think of it, for it was unlike Dorian to dwell on what others thought of him, but he had just done something very strange, that marked him forever as not a normal man. In the most basic of his philosophy, he already knew that, and accepted it, as he had been raised by a man who had accepted the tides and the weather with calm resolve. His only concerns were his safety, and the surety of the catch, and the return to the docks with their prize. Not to mention his lost sandals.

[Henn Redding]

Already at one of the oars pulling hard, Henn jumped over to extend one of his gnarled, calloused hands toward Dorian to help him up over the side. His powerful shoulders and strong, unrelenting grip ideal to lift a man out of the waters.

"Aye, ya must ha' taken half the Mer in yer lungs there, mate...cough it up, now! Ne'er seen a man under so long 'fore...if'n I've seen it right..." he bellows, genuinely pleased to see Dorian aboard again. He wasted no time from his oar, however, and returned to it directly, pulling it with his massive shoulders, the muscles of his neck apparent even under his massive wool shirt. Despite his grunting efforts, he continued to speak, his words coming in between each heave of the oar.

"Were it not fer me bad eyesight...I coulda swore ah seen ya slippin' through the water...fast as any fish I ever seen...an leapin' to the sarface like a porpoise, ya did, haha!"

[Guest]

Dorian coughed out the rest of the water, his web-toed feet splayed in the bottom of the boat, and then shook his head, shedding water in that twisty-turny way peculiar to seals and dogs. "There were sharks." he said, hoarsely. "I hurried."

But the exertion of the past hour was now beginning to tell on him. He had swum hard, in a shape not made for so much swimming. So he lay there for a moment, feeling tired and exhausted, looking half-drowned, until his heart stopped hammering and his lungs were filled again. Then he sat up and took his place at the oars, bracing his bare feet against the floor of the boat.

Pulling for Home. A thought occurred. "Did anyone pick up that big float ? There's at least 5 good net floats in that piece of cork. Why'd you ever throw it out ?" And that was pure Drake, as pure as the next thought of 'I'm getting my harpoon back but the sandals are gone for good.'

[Shaeliana]

As Dorian got his breath back, the others laid into the oars, Redlon watching the lines on their catch as he steered the ship towards the docks. When the fisherman had recovered enough to remember the float, Kent laughed assuring him that it had been retrieved. Redlon chuckled and shook his head, noting how Drake's son had not needed it.

"Shouldn't of suprised me though," he spat into the water. "You were always a wild youngin' more at home in the waves it seemed than anywhere. Used ta tease Drake - how he pulled a water fae outta the mer but he dinna think it funny much," the old sailor gurgled a low laugh.

"Ya have na changed much Dorian. Still more fish than anything but a seaman born fer sure," he nodded as they drew nearer the shore. By now, the muc-an-sgadain had all but ceased any struggle whatsoever while the sharks continued to circle the boat but had not moved in on the whale.

By now the sun was well into the sky, a few high clouds drifting across it from time to time, casting cool shadows on the surface of the lake. As they grew nearer the banks, the ever present, always noisy gulls began to check out the boat and their catch. On the shore, a much smaller crowd milled about waiting for the return of the fishermen.

[Guest]

Dorian nodded at Redlon's words, his normal tacit form of communication, and pulled a few strokes with the oar he was manning before he came up with an answer. "Not fish, Redlon." he said, at last. The webbed feet were bare for the others to see; Old Drake had gotten him to wear the sandals. It had been like clothes, a challenge to the old fisherman to keep Dorian clad. He had pursued his prey into the depths, like a Selkie ought to, and it was only now dawning on him that this might seem a little odd to the others. He was a water fae, or at least half-blood one. If he was full blood, he might have died from so long without his skin. Or perhaps wherever the skin was, it was kept safe, that he continued in good health.

He kept a weather eye on the sharks - if any came too close he'd smack it with the oar. Sharks did not want to trouble adult Selkie but would take a youngster. He did not begrudge them a meal today; what the sharks thought, he couldn't say. They were an old people, the sharkagh, and kept their own secrets. If he was in the mood for it, he thought he might harpoon one of them, though he knew shark-meat could be horribly tough betimes. You had to really pound it with a rock. Perhaps the next time he was in these waters.

He remembered the last time he had gone out, with Old Nate Drake, years ago, with the strongest fishermen to hunt the behemoths of the deep waters. They had hunted, and come up with a smaller muc-an-sgadain than this one, and they had come in at night. The torches led them in, and the voices of the women carried on the wind, that he remembered. The battle with the beast had been harder, and, now that he came to think on it, nobody had jumped into the water to chase down the prey. It had taken a long time to bring the fish in, and tie it using gaffs and loops. He had just....tied it up, in the water. The sun was lowering now as they came in, the distance a long way to go while dragging a heavy weight. And they had lost no one. Only Dorian's sandals, but one could be sure that loss would be felt keenly and fretted over for a while by the fisherman.

The voices rising up from the docks, as the women and children of the men he had gone to the water with greeted them, made his heart leap. Maranda might be among them. He was bringing her food, and light in the form of the rendered oil, and maybe a cloak of whale-skin, if he could tan it properly. One thing for sure....they now had a lot of work to do, to carve up the carcass and see to its proper treatment, and he had to sing for the departed muc-an-sgadain, that her soul would rest.

[Shaeliana]

Laughing heartily, Redlon shook his silvery mane of hair.

"Nay, not a fish Dorian. Of that yer lady Maranda'd affirm fer sure," the old man chuckled again as he turned his face to the shore as the others laughed and pulled the oars. The mood had changed from tense anticipation to jubilant triumph now that they had the beast in tow and the ship and crew were intact. Towing the heavy carcass through the waves was tiring work and soon they were applying all their energy to the work of rowing as they made slow progress towards the shore and the waiting crowds. Redlon, watching the lines and manning the rudder, sang out a jaunty tune.

Away, haul away,
O, haul away together,
Away, haul away,
O, haul away, Joe!
When I was a little lad,
My mother told me,
Away, haul away,
O, haul away together,
That if I did not kiss the girls
My lips would grow moldy
Away, haul away,
O, haul away, Joe!

As they neared the shore, the crowds huddled near the water's edge, the wind carrying the soft sound of the women singing as they waited. It wasn't hard for the fisherman to find Maranda, the sun shining off her yellow hair only rivaled by the bright happy smile she beamed. There had been much talk on shore about the chances of some not returning, but they had all come back and her beloved husband was back safe and whole.

The women had been busy cooking and had cooked fish and various root vegetables over the fire, skewered on sticks to afford dish and utensil free eating. An assortment of blades had been gathered along with buckets, barrels and wagons to move the treasure once they got the muc-an-sgadain ashore and cut up.

Amidst cheers and waves of greeting, the crowd parted to let the boat come ashore, the men rushing forward to help drag it all up on the shore. Overhead, gulls circled and cried as if they were part of the festive moment.

[Guest]

Dorian had mostly dried by the time they came in, though he'd started to sweat from the work of hauling the oars. He was tired; swimming the depths had been hard work. They put the boat up on the shore, and then hauled the deep-water creature onto the sands. Then he stumbled into Maranda's arms, holding her close, and mumbled something daft about losing his sandals.

He kissed her. He was home again, and all was right with his world. Children scurried along the shore, gathering any and all driftwood to heat the big kettles that would render the blubber into oil, and heat the smokehouses to dry and cure the meat. Men's voices were raised, shouting gleefully, and hurrying to take their places at the carcass. Some would cut the skin and blubber away, some would cut the fillets of meat, some would cut the bones themselves with great saws. The women sharpened blades, filled buckets and barrels, took lengths of meat to the smokehouses. There was no part of the muc-an-sgadain that would not be used, and everyone was busy. This victory had been risky, but worth the attempt. As he had told the men to hold fast, Maranda was what he held fast for.

"You will have meat and lamp-oil," he said, still holding her close, but since he spoke it in the dialect of the Selkies, he had to say it again, and kissed her forehead. He was too tired to say more, but his thoughts were simple. He was home; he was safe; he had brought in the kill. All that was left was for him, and Henn, to claim the heart and their respective harpoons. "I must go work, beloved." With reluctance, he released her, and went to take his place among the men to work. They had only daylight, and that would fade, and when the moon rose, he would sing to the departed beast.

[Shaeliana]

Pride and joy radiated from the blonde's green eyes as she watched her husband returning home with their catch. Giggling and hugging him tightly as he stumbled into her arms, she returned his kiss with fervor.

"It is soooo... big!" she laughed. "I never dreamed there were beasts like that out there swimming," and she dropped her voice to a whisper. "And we were out there swimming with them," she chuckled and hugged him tight again.

"Have I told ya how wonderful I think ya are?" she grinned and kissed him once more before turning him loose and heading over to lend her own hand to the chore of harvesting the useful parts of the beast, which was most of it. Laughter and boisterous conversation accompanied the chore and while it was work, the atmosphere was lighthearded and joyful. It would be a better winter because of this catch and everyone present would partake of that bounty.

As the sun touched the horizon, they were still busy rendering fat, putting the last parts of meat into the smoke houses, and cleaning the skin - leaving mostly bones laying on the beach. It was well into the evening before the work was done, the mood by then much quieter and subdued, the children worn out and asleep in a pile on the sand. As the last wagon load was sent on its way, parents collected their children and with a fond farewell, the crowd departed for home and bed. It had been a long day but a good day that would benefit them for months to come.

[Guest]

Dorian stumbled home with Maranda leading him, and promptly collapsed into a deep sleep. There would be time to go after the bones tomorrow (and Dorian, raised by Mr Tightwad Extraordinaire Drake, had plans for some of them). Whalebone was flexible and could be cut thin, even thin enough to weave, and he wanted to make some fresh lobster traps. Having a potential of many strips of whalebone right at hand, that was an irresistable thing for one so cheap.

But at the moment, he was exhausted, and even when dawn touched the sky, did not wake. He slept soundly, flat out, the deep even breaths of someone who really was sleeping it out. Even when the Cat arrived and did her best to rouse him, only one eye slitted open and then slammed shut again. He was worn out. Maranda arose, and he barely stirred, and certainly did not rouse. The sun would be well in the sky before Dorian Drake, who had never slept past dawn, finally woke up. Fortunately there were a lot of bones to a beast that large. It was unlikely they would all be gone.

In his dreams, for slow heavy dreams he did have in his exhaustion, he stood upon the rocks and sang, in the lyrical words of the Selkies upon land. He sang out to the sparkling water, the words carried on the constant breeze. It was the song he needed to sing to the whale, that her spirit would be free. He dreamed he was swimming again, in the sleek body of his youth, when his flippers were so much stronger and it so much easier to swim. The web-toed feet twitched slightly.

He woke up in slow stages, gradually becoming aware that it was well into the day, that every muscle he owned had been worked to its limits and was stiff and sore, and that yes, indeed, he had lost his sandals. Thank the gods Maranda had given him boots, so that people wouldn't see the webbed toes. He was thought strange enough already.

[Shaeliana]

Samheen 14th

The morning dawned cold and clear, sun breaking over the calm lake producing bright ribbons of light on the surface of the water. Only the cat was aware of the rising of the golden globe while the two humans she had adopted slumbered peacefully despite cat's best efforts. A good mark after sunrise, Maranda opened her eyes to the day and lay for a few burns watching her handsome husband sleep peacefully, his rugged face almost like that of a child as he slept. Stroking the cat who was demanding some attention, when the feline raced to the door and stood expectantly, the blonde slipped out of bed and opened the door to ler her out.

Quietly she dressed and combed out her hair, a mess of tangles from the wind the day before. Drawing a cloak about her shoulders, she kissed the still slumbering Dorian on the cheek softly and left, on her way into town to deliver some embroidery work to Marta and pick up any new pieces the woman had.

As the sun rose in the sky, so did the temperature and by noon it was warm and pleasant with a very light breeze off the lake. The combination of the two promised for a delightful day. Cat returned to the house and sat in front of the door washing herself carefully.

[Guest]

Dorian prised open one eyelid with marked reluctance. It felt - wrong. It felt late. The pattern of the sun was wrong, and the tides, and the warmth of the day. And he hurt. Every muscle was bemoaning its fate, to have worked so hard. He heard a plaintive maiow come from outside, and began the - for him - slow process of sitting up, to getting up.

Opening the door confirmed that yes, indeed, it was full into day and he had slept away most of the most fruitful hours of it. Eyes wide in shock only confirmed this dire act of laziness. Old Drake would be HORRIFIED. Only there did lurk, in the back of his thoughts, that a nice sunning on warm rocks was what one did for a good time after a hunt. He looked around, taking stock. Self - ok. Gaff, knife, and harpoon present and all in need of sharpening. Maranda, no. Cat, yes. Sandals, no. Boots, yes. He sat back down, with a grunt of discomfort at the stirring of hurt muscles, and pulled them on. They felt very strange indeed. He got to his feet, wobbling a little. "Hullo, grey one." he greeted the cat, who looked sleek and well-fed. He left the cat to her own devices. He figured his wife had gone about her errands, and would be smugly content at rising before him all day long. Much good to her, he thought with a smile.

He had yet to get work done, but he had plans to do it. A bad start could be made well by a good finish, so he aimed for that, and took up his hammer (a rock) and his chisels (his knife and some oddments of metal scrap) and his bucket (to hold the split bone). He had to go split some whalebone. No question about what was for Dinner.

He looked out at the docks and the sand, where vats still seethed and bubbled, and the carcass was still being taken apart and processed. There were men and women down there, working on the bones and the assorted offal of the muc-an-sgadain. So he set off, moving leisurely as being in a hurry was not an option - he'd fall down, and at the moment, falling down would hurt twice as much as ever.

First, however, he had a duty to attend to. He walked - gingerly - out to the furthest slip of shore, and stopped when he got his toes wet. Boots. Can't walk in the water in my boots, Maranda will have a fit. Briefly he wondered if he could make sandals from whaleskin and whalebone, which goes to show how frugal Drakes were. No, nothing for it, he must go and get rope and tar and braid up new sandals for himself. Oh, the expense. He'd look around for discarded rope first. Rope wore out, but he had none that was worn enough for him to even consider unravelling it to braid up sandals.

He pulled off the boots, tucked them under his arm, and splashed out to knee deep, and began to sing. Not loud; just soft and steady, the song he had dreamed. A great creature of pathos and wisdom had perished so that he and his family, and the others who lived nearby, might live through the coming hardships of winter. He had taken his kill and shared it without greediness, to the benefit of others as well as himself and his kin. He sang his apologies, in the musical speech of the Selkies, and then went back to the carcass to begin his work. If anyone watched him, he made no mention of it, just went on about his business in the standard terse Drake style.

The ribs, so mighty that a tall man could easily stand within their cage, were still mostly intact. He nodded a tacit greeting to those already there, sized up a likely rib, and applied his rock to good use. It was slower than if he had the 'proper' tools, but rocks had the advantage of being 'free'. He was a Drake, after all. Tightwadery seemed to come to them like breathing.

From there it was painstaking slow work, using water to soften the bone and make it malleable enough to cut but not so soft it cut too easily. He used the water at hand, and found a flat stone to drag the bone to and begin the tedious process of splitting the bone into as shallow a slip as he could. A saw would work a treat, but saws cost money, and Dorian did not think to ask anyone for one. At least not immediately. After he bashed his thumb for the third time, eliciting some oaths that most certainly marked him as a fisherman - a profession where cussing is nigh essential - he at last began to think about where to borrow a saw. Not buy one, mind you. Heavens forfend he spend good money on a tool he might use - 4 or 5 times a year, when the storms threw up wood he couldn't easily break apart, or something needed doing. Borrowing.....wait a moment. That fella from town, who was down this way....maybe he had tools. Townspeople had tools, didn't they ?

[Shaeliana]

If anyone heard the fisherman's song, they paid him no heed. Fishermen and those who lived by the water were a superstitious lot. While this ritual they might not know, there were a dozen others they did observe, each to his own. Dorian's baritone voice traveled out over the waves, the mellow song eliciting a feeling of closure for the Selkie as if the circle were somehow now complete. Almost, he could hear the mellow sound of her crying back to him or perhaps it was a memory of time long ago.

Redlon was among those back at work rendering the fat of the whale for use in lamps. Smiling broadly, he nodded at the fisherman.

“G'day t'ya Dorian! An a good day tis too,” he greeted him, coughed and spat off into the sand away from the rendering area. “Not much left ta do here,” he added, grinning when he saw the young man's intent to start on the bone. Old Drake had been that way, use every last part of everything and waste nothing. The young man had come by it honestly enough. Today however, he noted the young man walking awkwardly.

“D'ya hurt somethin' yesterday Drake?” he asked, a note of concern in his voice as he went over and helped hold the bone while Dorian broke it off. Then, seeing his dilema over cutting off strips, grinned and nodded.

“I've a hand saw back at the shop. Course, it's fer cuttin' boards but I reckon it'd cut bone strips well enough. Yer welcome to it if ya wana go fetch it. In my shop hangin' on a peg on the wall,” he patted the young man on the shoulder and headed back to the fires chuckling softly.

[Guest]

"G'day," was the reply, then Dorian looked down at his footwear. "My wife bought me boots. Can't walk in them too well." He then returned an aching knuckle to his mouth. Sometimes rocks just weren't good enough. "I'll go fetch the saw, thanks, and sharpen it after."

That Maranda had spent good money on boots, for him, didn't enter into his personal equations of How Money Should be Spent, ie, Not Spent. Nor did he ask her what her wages might be. As far as he was concerned, the money and things under the floorboards was for the household at large. Winter was coming.

He set his pail, bone, and 'tools' near by where Redlon was, so the man could keep an eye on them, and set off awkwardly toward town. Though his appearance had been improved dramatically by a decent shirt, as opposed to the recycled sailcloth he was used to, and the rope and tar sandals replaced by actual boots - he still wore the old sailcloth breeches - he had no clue of it. His grace on land was pathetic, at best; navigating the cobbles was hard in shoes he wasn't used to.

[Shaeliana]

Fortunately, Redlon's place wasn't far into town. Ginger was watching the shop and smiled broadly when she saw the fisherman.

"Dorian! Good ta see ya. Redlon's at the beach with th'whale still helpin' boil down the blubber," she offered. When she found out what the young man had come for, she quickly found the saw, an arch of wood with a serrated metal blade stretched tauntly between the ends. The streets were mostly empty still even all these days since the orc attack and then the storm. Still, rebuilding efforts could be seen everywhere though the population of Kings Court had not rebounded to normal levels.

Back at the whale bones, Dorian's belongings were waiting on him and a couple of sailors were following the fisherman's lead and harvesting bits of whale bone.

[Guest]

"Hullo, Ginger," he said, thinking it fine that Redlon had caught her eye. He thanked her and set back off to the beach.

Dorian went to work on the rib. He soaked the bone, sawed it, soaked it and sawed it, until he had as many slips of whalebone as he could get before the sun ran out on him. You could make almost anything from the whalebone; harpoons, fishhooks, spoons...He made sure to set aside some more bone so he could carve it this winter. When the lake was icebound, but it was not too thick to ice-fish, it would give him something to do and be useful at the same time.

He did eventually speak to Redlon, though. "In the sharing out," he said, having thought long and hard on this, "I'll need to borrow your wheelbarrow. Then I can truck more meat into town, once it's cured." He then sawed for a while until a new thought turned up. "And Maranda, for her, I will ask you for a barrel of oil, so she can see to embroider in the winter." He'd have to buy an oil-lamp.....well, maybe one would wash up on shore. No, he'd buy it for her, or better yet, take her along so she could get the best bargain.

[Shaeliana]

Sitting beside the young fisherman, Redlon offered assistance holding the bone while Dorian sawed and the two talked.

"When we're ready ta move it ta town, we'll use carts and probably donkey's ta pull them. No need ta use all that man sweat fer somethin' an animal can do the better," the old man nodded and swatted at an insect that kept buzzing round them.

"Barrel o' oil for your lady is no problem at all. After all, weren't fer you, we'd not have this catch I think. In fact we might have all ended up in dire straights if not for yer fast actions. Old man Drake was certainly right bout you being part fish," the old man chuckled.

"Never saw anything like it. You were down under the water long time, son. How'd ya do it? Musta been some trick. We'd written you off as dead fer sure," he shook his head. If he had ever noted Dorian's webbed feet, it wasn't apparent in his attitude. Old Redlon just seemed more amazed than anything, wondering if perhaps some deity had watched over the lad for some reason.

"Fact is, we might pull off a bit more for us that went out ta kill the muc-an-sgadain. Nasty rumors floatin' about this mornin', that the King went off and got hisself killed in the south and unsure who's ta take control of things now. That after somebody kidnapped his bride, newly here from her homeland doesn't bode well for days ta come. Many ugly rumors and theories out there. Some says it's darkness what killed the young king and darkness tryin' ta consume our lands," the old man shuddered.

"While I'd like ta think there's a god watchin' over us, I think mostly we've got ta watch o'er ourselves lad," he mused as he pulled out a pipe and stuffed some sweet smelling leaves in it.

"So, I been thinkin' that we oughta get the bigger reward for havin' taken the bigger risk. Could be rough sailin' for a long while yet," he slapped his leg, destroying the buzzing insect this time.

[Guest]

Dorian paused in what he was doing, to regard Redlon with eyes the colour of the deep lake, a strong blue. The doings of Kings and all was nothing to him; it had been nothing to Old Drake. That sort of stuff went on, in his mind, far away and had no effect on his life. The fish in the lake did not care what King was on the throne, or off it, for that matter. That some lady who was to marry the king had been stolen away, well, that was a sad thing, but if it wasn't Maranda that was stolen, he wasn't worried. Kings had knights and men-at-arms to handle such things. It wasn't the job of a fisherman, any more than it was the King's job to tell him where to lay his lobster-traps.

The matter of the darkness that had Redlon concerned, that was something different. There was no darkness where he was fishing, and that, to the simple soul that was Dorian Drake, was all that mattered. To understand it more deeply was beyond his ken. Still, it did echo what the Mer had said. Darkness. He was to look out for it and tell them what he found out. They seemed very concerned.....so perhaps he should be concerned. The processing of these thoughts took a while, as when it came to fast thinking, Dorian was strong and steady at rowing a boat.

"Not fish, Redlon," he said, at last, after the deep consideration he gave serious matters. "Seal. And I will take only what Maranda and I need to get through the winter. The rest of my share will be given away, to those who need it. If people starve this winter, no one will live to buy my fish next spring." He looked into Redlon's eyes, with the calm directness of a Drake who had Made Up His Mind. With the standard Drake Logic, too. You did not take more than you needed from the waters. You did what you could to ensure you had a future. That was the Selkie way, too. Sharing. To be greedy with this bounty was anaethema to him - the meat would go to waste, and Drakes could not abide waste, and Selkies could not watch others starve.

"It would probably be right to take a load of fresh meat to the town now, while it's here. And what is this, about this darkness ? Is it in town ? Can you see it ?" He finally reached the marrow of the bone, and could not resist digging in a fingerful of the spongy meat, to slurp it down with obvious relish.

[Shaeliana]

Laughing good naturedly, the old man clapped Dorian on the shoulder.

"Selkie is it? Well, I won't say ye've not always been graceful in the water, but even a seal has ta come up fer air, son. Only fishes stay down long as you were and come up spittin' water like ya did," the old man shrugged.

"Just happy ya weren't drowned. Wasn't lookin' forward ta tellin' yer new wife what happened," Redlon's voice grew quiet.

"But enough of that. Darkness? No, son ya can't see it at least not like that. Darkness is th'...spirit behind folks. Evil. There's those that wish ta be in power and don't care who they have ta hurt ta get there. Those that would call on the dark forces of the world you n' me can't see. Same evil that was on the world over ten yahren ago.. about the time old Drake found ya," the old man scratched his chin and squinted up at the sky watching a couple of gulls squawk by.

"T'would be a shame if folks were ta open up the deep and let the darkness back in. Bad times those were," he muttered, shook his head and looked at Dorian.

"The whale was a good idea son," he said. "And you'll have as much or little as ya like," he chuckled. "Perhaps soon, ye'll be addin' to the shack. Room fer youngins?" the old man grinned.

[Guest]

Dorian did not respond to Redlon's comment about the water. He didn't think it wise to mention the Mer, or their gift to him. "She would have pulled the boat down, if I had not gone." was all he said. He'd already said too much. Admitting he was a Selkie....meant admitting he had no skin to wear, and so was landbound.

He looked at Redlon, brows knitted in puzzlement. Then it became clear. The storm that had so changed his life, the storm that had robbed him of his father and his memories for so long.....that was part of the evil the Mer were speaking about. He had his own reasons for wanting to go and see about the matter then, if that was true, even if Old Nate Drake had counselled that revenge was time-consuming and expensive.....and 'while you have the vengeful thoughts gnawing at yer belly, he's home having his porridge and thinking it a fine day.'

But at Redlon's last comment, Dorian's mouth dropped open and he started up a furiously embarassed blush. "I - er - ah - oh -" He looked at his feet; no help there. He looked at the bucket; no inspiration. He tugged at the collar of his already loose shirt, red to the roots of his dark hair. He had dallied with women before, but Maranda....she was up on a pedestal in his mind, and admitting what went on, on that mattress she'd put in the shack, was something he keenly wanted to be kept private. This display of sheer mortification, to anyone watching, was hilarious.

He hadn't really thought about it, not that he was a fast thinker by any road. Yet children could very well happen - (the bottom threatened to drop out of his belly) - and then what would he do ? He didn't have the ken of babies. When he was little his mother just shooed him along into the water, and fed him fish. It wasn't the same. He hadn't even taken off his skin for quite a while after he was born. And then there was the problem if his bloodline bred true and the baby came along as a seal pup. That would cause a whole lot of problems. "Oh, that's choppy," he managed finally, which was a Nate Drakism for a rough day.

[Shaeliana]

The young fisherman's reaction to the topic of children brought a smile to the old man's lips but he rsisted the chuckle that wanted to come out. Unsure if Dorian's reaction was a result of embarassment or shock, it wasn't all that surprising. The old sailor could remember those days well enough, the dread fear of bringing children into the world that raised a cold sweat on his forehead played against the desire to extend his bloodline.

"Kids is a natural part of life," the old man mused. "They'll come in their own good time and ye'll learn ta do what's needed and ye've got Maranda ta help. Won't be like Old Nate raisin' you alone," he chuckled, recalling his friend's devotion to the youngster and his tales of the young man's shinanigans.

"Though Nate was a good man and a good father. You'll do fine! We have ta get through the dark days ahead first though," he shrugged and stood to his feet.

"Better go check the renderin' pots, see how the fat's cookin'" he chuckled and patted Dorian on the shoulder. While the activity was far less than it had been the day before, there were still jobs to be done to finish preparing the parts of the big fish to help take them through the winter. Further up on the beach, a couple of women were singing happily as they cut up the meat of the muc-an-sgadain to be hung in the curing sheds.

[Guest]

Dorian truly hoped he'd be equal to the task of raising children. He knew what a handful he'd been, as most of the older fishermen knew several tales of young Dorian's skill at being trouble. Keeping him dressed and out of the water had been serious jobs for Nate Drake. But Maranda seemed much more capable, and she would know what to do. He'd listen to her and do what she said. "Maranda will know what to do," he said, sounding a shade desperate.

"Dark days....." he murmured. That was it, what he had to find out. He nodded a farewell to Redlon, and gathered up his slivers of bone, stacking them neatly into the bucket. They had to be kept moist to retain their bendability. After he fashioned new lobster traps from them, he'd let them cure in the sun for a while, on top of the shack. Then he smashed up the spongy inner bone of the rib, because that was where the marrow was. Looked like dinner to him. Boiled up with some lakeweed, it ought to make a wholesome meal.

He carefully picked up the tools (including the best 'hammer' rock), and went to find a honing stone, one that was good and flat. With wet sand and elbow grease, he went to work to bring the edge back to Redlon's saw, until the sun set. Once the darkness fell, he went back to the shack, hoping to find his wife there.

[Shaeliana]

The afternoon had been warm with the autumn sun bathing the beach with her warmth and only a light breeze. As the sun began to sink towards the horizon, the winds picked up, blowing a chill breeze off the water as the sun's warmth ebbed.

Back at his shack, a warm yellow glow shown through the one remaining window on the opposite side from the water. Inside, Maranda sat near the fire working on some sewing with the cat sleeping next to her. As the door opened, Cat woke up and ran to the fisherman, meowing loudly.

"Dorian!" the blonde smile and laid her sewing on the chest next to the wall before getting up. "How was your day?" she kissed him softly.

"You were sleepin' sa soundly, I didn't want ta disturb ya this mornin'. Had ta go see Marta ta give her the sewin' I'd finished. She had three more pieces for me ta work," she smiled proudly. "Oh! Got somethin' for ya," she grinned, a twinkle in her green eyes as she moved over to the chest and gathered up something laying beside it.

"I know how much ya liked yer sandals," she beamed as she turned around with a pair of rope sandals much like his old had been.

"They'll take a bit o'wearin' ta break em in good, but I know the other shoes bother ya," she placed them in his hands.

"Got a good deal on em'," she shrugged. "Hungry? Didn't fix anything yet as I wasn't sure when ya'd be home, but I did dig some roots and cut some lakeweed."

[Guest]

Dorian set down his gear and kissed his wife, which was the most important thing he'd done all day. "I love you," he said. The sandals were lovely, and since it was Maranda buying them he knew she'd gotten a good deal. He never argued over what she spent; there the tightfistedness ended. "They're fine, Maranda, these should wear for ten years or more !" Sandals were also much easier to squish the water out of when you fell into the lake, something Dorian did on a nigh daily basis. "The boots are too grand for me."

He set to putting away the gear, and scraped the marrow into the stewpot, giving the cat a bit to eat. A lot of goodness in marrow. "I brought marrowbones.....I was cutting ribs to make new lobster-pots. And there will be a barrel of oil for you to see by, in the winter, I just have to find a lamp. Or buy one." He looked around for the rest that she had found, and tipped that in as well. Stew being a mainstay of fishermen, especially a Drake, who if he had two pots, would sell one. As for cooking, he cooked because one had to eat, and it wasn't so nice eating cold raw food in the winter. Besides, Maranda wouldn't like it.

"I never slept that late," he added, a trifle guiltily. "But at least I made use of the rest of the day." he grinned at Maranda. "Tomorrow, I'll take a hand cart of meat into town, whatever will not fit into the smokehouses or salting tubs. And sharpen Redlon's saw some more. How was town ?"

For once, he cared about the town, or what threatened it, for he had a connexion to that now. The darkness that had stolen his father and his memories, that was something he wanted to hear more about, for to know its ways was to learn how to hunt it.

[Shaeliana]

Watching him fix up the soup, she smiled at his comments about sleeping so late.

"You deserved it, Dorian! Ya worked hard catchin' the whale and then takin' it off the bones and all. You'd not have slept if yer body didn't need it," she smiled and kissed his cheek before moving over to sit with her sewing again.

"Odd you should ask. Town's... kinda spooky," she picked up her sewing and worked it slowly as she talked while Dorian made dinner.

"Lotta talk about Balthasar bein' killed and fightin' 'tween the priests and the regents men. Talk of more war but with the elves since their lady was captured and taken away, and dark gods and demons," she shuddered.

"Hard ta tell how much is just folks in a panic. Dora seems ta think mostly it's just wild tales o' folks who like ta stir things up. But I don't know Dorian. There's a... mood in town, a dark uneasy feel ta things."

Laying her sewing in her lap, she looked up at Dorian, worry creating a small furrow over her brow.

"D'ya think they could really destroy the whole city Dorian? What would we do if they did?"

[Guest]

Dorian puzzled over the most of it, but the last question he had an immediate answer for. "Take coin an' nets an' gaff an' knife an' bucket an' hooks an' Cat an' you an' me into the boat and away," he said. "If the city falls, we have no one to buy fish." That was pure Drake.

The rest took some thought, as the soup bubbled and seethed, the flavours of the marrow and the lakeweed and roots mixing as they cooked together. He pondered, at last coming up with, "Who's Balthasar ?" Dorian Drake was not a man to be abreast of current events. "And who stole the lady, was she Elvish ? Does Auntie Dora know a lot about that ?"