This is a continuation of the coastal fantasy thing that I’m slowly putting together. There’s a particular story that I want to tell, and I hope I have enough time to tell it.

This is a continuation of the character in this bit of writing. Skipping a bit ahead. Hopefully I have enough time to fill in the gaps.

The other parts of this world that I’ve written are here:

A Heavy Storm
A Fishing Day Commences, A Fishing Day Ends
A Passion for Boats, Leaving Home
A Rest at a Beach
A Conversation at a Beach

I hope you enjoy.

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Thin strands of golden light caressed their face, and slowly they’re stirred from a deep slumber. It had been many days on the road, and many more were to come, and they woke, not feeling refreshed. Still tired, still worn out, but they woke and they got up from the nook away from the road that they slept in.

Many more days, many long days ahead. Still, they were not deterred. They collected their things, prepared themselves a light breakfast, and soon they were walking once more. Once more, a long day on feet, a long day step after step after step. Another day looking for where to go next, and making sure to get there. The destination was a long way away, and it was difficult to know if they’d actually get there.

The fifty year storm had reached their island, and much like it always had, it was causing grave concern. There was no telling how long it’d be until the lighting that travelled underneath it would start crackling and whipping through the land, the structures. There was no telling as to how much damage it would cause. All that was known is that, with the storm’s return, it would be happening soon.

The storm itself formed slowly, but had telltale signs in how the rain fell and how the clouds formed. The way it would darken a space, the way it would travel. Seemingly slow, but sudden at the same time, as though the time taken wasn’t happening at all. The last time it happened, it was devastating. Of course the island and its communities recovered, as they always do, but it was still severe enough that, a few generations later, the effects could still be felt, even if not talked about. People tend to move on, but the memory reaches through, regardless.

And so they left, looking for a faraway place, hoping to find some answers to the whole thing. Hoping to find a group that they had heard about, a group that may no longer exist, who could have the answer to all of this thing. Some believed that the storm was a curse brought to their island, a last gasp from a dying peoples to spite the people who were there, such was the hatred in their hearts. A dying group that forced others to defend themselves, and a group that had to be pushed back from the island after they attacked and attacked some more.

The journey had been short so far, and the beauty of the waterscape, of the wide ocean and the chain of islands had not been lost on them. Of course, they had seen parts of it before, but this was the farthest they had been, and possibly the most isolated they had felt. Plenty of the islands were inhabited by other people. Sometimes just a small few huts or houses, sometimes just one, and sometimes just people roaming from island to island, and plenty had no people living there at all. And it was beautiful to see, for there still were pathways, but they were not always made by other people and so only maintained by the traffic they saw.

They left against protest, for the people they spoke to on the island about it felt it a bad idea to try and find the remnants of a group who held nought but hate. However, they felt that, if there was no information that they could find in the villages of their island, then it would be worth first heading to the city, to their university, asking around, and hopefully finding something there. Failing that, hopefully a trace or remnants somewhere. Anywhere, because there was no help at their island. Something.

It was a long shot, of course, but often it is the case that these long shots bring something forward, and perhaps they needed to continue their research at the research station on their island, but there was something in them that felt this was better than doing nothing. Better to put things down if it meant avoiding another disaster. The storm, as it was always spoken about, was documented enough to know that something about it was unnatural, and perhaps it was irrefutable proof of magic existing. Whilst this would be good to know, they were far more concerned about how it impacted their island and its peoples.

The ocean that morning was a deep blue, though it often was, and it stretched far beyond what vision could see. It was still another day or two crossing the island that they were on, and the breeze blowing gently around them carried a light, yet discernible salt within it.  All that there was around them, land-wise, was the island that they were on. It was all that existed at that point in time.

After preparing a brief breakfast, they collected their belongings, tucked them back into their pack, and continued their journey northward, under idyllic conditions and among idyllic scenery, appreciating it on the surface, and only that deeply.