The Wind was Rising

 



Captain Droth walked silently among the ancient ruins. Weeds reached for the spring sunshine slanting through rotten roof timbers.

A shutter creaked back and forth in the warm breeze. The sound reminded him of ship's rigging, and the sadness of losing his beloved Misty Maiden washed over him again. He imagined that fish roamed her sunken decks trying to make sense of the alien cargo.

Signs of battle were everywhere among the ruins. Bones were scattered and cleaned by the feasting birds and dragons. Large troll skulls were also mingled with smaller human and elf remains.

"I doubt dragons did any of this," Pall said from outside the gate. He was too big to walk through, even if he folded his wings.

"Why? You dragons are known to enjoy a tasty human from time to time."

"There would be no bones left," was the simple reply. Pall was always straightforward even in the face of sarcasm. His nostrils opened wide. "Nothing but ghosts here. Or, maybe..." He trailed off and hopped into the air with one massive sweep of leathery wings only to drop again into some scrubby bushes. Several large rabbits fled the scene, and the chase was on.

Droth nosed around some more, but his usual interest in finding loot or trade items was subdued. This seemed too much like grave robbing.

Instead, he pulled a worn leather logbook from his pack and started sketching. The hours passed without notice as he gave himself entirely to capturing the details of this empty place.

Pall came and went twice, bored by his friend's immersion. Although once he said, "You're pretty good. You should do this more often."

The shadows were long when Droth left. Riding easily on Pall's back, he was in a strange mood. Pall's suggestion to "do this more often" had clamped onto his mind like a barnacle. He realized he had been adrift too long after losing his Misty Maiden.

He looked at his drawings again. He had been to countless ports, and his art was as good as any he had seen for sale.

When they arrived back at the outpost, it was full dark. Droth walked purposefully to the bookbinder's cottage and knocked. When the door opened, Droth smiled and said, "Could I borrow some paint and brushes?"

He was adrift no more. The wind was rising.



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