On the shores of the Living Ocean, he dipped a toe into the vermilion water, and felt it welcome his return.
“Too long,” the sea-foam sang, chiding. “We thought you had forgotten.”
“Never,” he smiled, though he felt a storm-surge of sadness. Truly, a season had been too long. But his long labor was nearly done, his embassy accomplished. “I bring a message from the King of the Dead.”
“Well?” the waves asked sullenly.
He withdrew his toe, sadly put on his ashen shoe. “A truce. Acceptance of the lines that separate you. If the waters rise no further, he will raise no more lands.”
“Agreed,” it said, sea-quick, storm-quick. “Now, come back to me.”
He did cry then, red tears marking his face. “I am on his ground now.” And turned his back on the wide, red ocean as it rocked itself in misery.
“Too long,” the sea-foam sang, chiding. “We thought you had forgotten.”
“Never,” he smiled, though he felt a storm-surge of sadness. Truly, a season had been too long. But his long labor was nearly done, his embassy accomplished. “I bring a message from the King of the Dead.”
“Well?” the waves asked sullenly.
He withdrew his toe, sadly put on his ashen shoe. “A truce. Acceptance of the lines that separate you. If the waters rise no further, he will raise no more lands.”
“Agreed,” it said, sea-quick, storm-quick. “Now, come back to me.”
He did cry then, red tears marking his face. “I am on his ground now.” And turned his back on the wide, red ocean as it rocked itself in misery.
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