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On the shore, Adara was prancing in and out of the water, trying to get to him. Andreas grinned and whistled teasingly, driving her to double her efforts, paws scrabbling in the slick sand and tail flying back and forth. She surged into the breakers, wading in to chest level right before a malicious wave broke over her head. Yelping, the big dog fled the surging water, whining piteously.
Andreas merely laughed at her predicament, and Adara gave up on her quest, instead putting her nose to the ground and loping off down the beach, searching for an interesting scent that wasn’t covered in salt.
A vicious tug on his line brought Andreas’ mind back to the task at hand, and he started reeling in the big fish that struggled and strained at his pole. The bobber jerked up and down irregularly as the fish zigzagged under the surface, pulling on the line until Andreas thought it might snap. Muscles standing out on his strong arms and shoulders, the carpenter gave one last heave, sending the fish flying into the air, where it glinted ruby in the sunlight. It landed on the ancient, weathered wood, gasping, flopping its life out as so many fish had before it.
Picking up a light club, Andreas bashed it against his prize’s head, ending its life in one merciful blow. He’d caught a huge red calleli fish, one of the most prized morsels the Great Ocean had to offer. Grinning, he knelt down, gutting the fish and tossing the remains into the water, where some bottom feeder would undoubtedly snap them up.
Still smiling happily, Andreas gathered up his fishing pole and line, hitching his tack box up under his arm and swinging his fish in his other hand. He strode down the length of the pier, carefully stepping over the holes in the planks until he felt the warm sand under his bare feet.
He’d dug a hole in the sand for his cooling box, well away from the tide line. It sank down deep, into the layers where the sand was cool and moist. A thin layer of it covered the box. Scraping away the sand, Andreas put the calleli in with the other fish he’d caught earlier that morning. He had enough, for the fish didn’t keep very well, so he could only take three or four of them home at a time.
He closed the box again and then stretched, looking around at the beauty of his chosen spot. The Great Ocean glinted gold in the sun, the clean white sands radiating warmth. Out beyond the waves he could see flocks of white sea birds that fished the teaming waters much more efficiently than he could ever hope to. Occasionally he caught the glint of a fish in the sunlight.
The pier stretched out into the clear waters, its posts obscured by the hosts of shellfish and barnacles that clung to them. It was very old, and had been there for as long as Andreas could remember. The wood was aged and weathered, but sturdy, even though there were many missing boards. Adara wouldn’t set foot onto it though, probably because she was afraid of falling through. Apparently dogs had a sixth sense for things like that. As a result, Adara usually spent the better part of the morning trying to swim out to the pier.
He was the only person on the beach, even though he could catch a glimpse of the capitol city on the horizon. Most city people couldn’t swim and were therefore scared of the ocean. Then there was the fact that nobles and most of ‘them city folks’ were afraid of the woods, which rumor said were haunted. Commoners knew it for the rumor it was, but conveniently refrained from enlightening the ignorant. Indeed, many encouraged the stories of gruesome monsters and mysterious disappearances. Everyone likes having something to feel superior about.
Andreas went fishing once a week. He’d spend the day by the ocean, usually catching enough by the early afternoon, as he had now. After that, he spent the rest of the sunlight hours enjoying himself. Adara, too, loved this time.
Smiling gently, he whistled his companion over, his smile exploding into full-throated laughter as Adara bowled him over in excitement, licking his face happily, more like an overgrown puppy than the stately adult she was supposed to be. Andreas wrestled with her gleefully, filled with the busy splashing of the waves and the benevolent beaming of the sun.
The physician had come and smeared him liberally with salves so he wouldn’t scar, disapproval and even a touch of dislike evident on his face. Sometimes, as he lay numb under the physician’s hands, Miroslav wished they would let him scar, anything to show he wasn’t the weak coward everyone believed he was. Then again, maybe they were right.
His parents hadn’t come to see him, nor had his brother and sisters, and when the servants had come to clean up the shards of the mirror they hadn’t even bothered to hide their gossiping. The only signs of care he’d received was a single daisy from one of the young servant children, a little boy he’d struck up a tentative friendship with.
One person who tolerated his presence.
One person keeping him from going insane.
Now, he was dressed in his plainest clothes, a solid blue tunic with a deep scoop neck, white linen shirt and black pants with simple leather boots. Standing by his window, looking out on the world outside of the palace, a world he’d never been a part of.
He was an adult, old enough to make his own decisions and not depend on the palace for everything, old enough to stop caring what they thought of him. He should have been able to detach himself from his family, run away into the real world where he might make something of himself…maybe join a dancing troupe. The idea appealed to him, to spend his life making a living off of his favorite activity…the harsh living qualities he might face didn’t faze him either. He knew that he’d endured worse. Maybe not the same type of torment, but definitely worse. Briefly he shuddered, despite the mild weather.
But what dancing troupe would accept a man who danced the women’s parts better than the lifting and twirling the men were supposed to do? That eliminated most of his hope, but there was always a defiant bit of it lodged in his head. Enough to keep him dancing.
And yet, and yet… He loved his family. Even though they didn’t care for him; despite the fact that he was laughed at and made fun of; Miroslav was even prepared to deal with him strutting around and making his life hell. Him... the man courting his eldest sister, Danika. But he wouldn’t let his mind travel that path.
He loved his family, and couldn’t leave them. His hopes and dreams were built around the fact that he could make them accept him someday, that someday they would love him. He needed them, if only because he was so used to their presence.
And so he was stuck in a limbo, too scared to leave the palace, but too unhappy to really stay there.
So he did the logical thing. Miroslav fled.
His feet still stung as he ran down to the stables, but he paid them no mind. Once there, he began saddling his mare, Fleet. She was his own horse, the one he’d bought with his allowance, a sleek but sturdy bay who loved affection. His ‘royal’ horse, a proud black stallion, was too regal to ride everywhere, and Miroslav didn’t like the biting bastard anyway.
Pulling on a drab cloak of brown wool to hide his features, he led Fleet out into the courtyard. The horses’ heads turned to follow him, ears pricked, and the dogs yapped greetings in their kennels. The barn cats purred when he bent down to stroke them, and Miroslav smiled. At least the animals liked him.
Mounting Fleet, he nudged her with his heels (he refused to wear spurs), guiding her out the back way and free of the city before sending her into a canter across the rolling plain.
He was headed for his secret spot, where he could be alone and brood. He was both scared of the ocean and of the forest, but he figured that these factors would increase his isolation all the more. After all, if the unnerving tales had reached the Court, they must have been positively thriving in the common areas.
(scene change)
Miroslav heard the waves first, a calming, rhythmic sound, much like the beat of Fleet’s hooves against the ground. Then the wind started picking up, rustling the tough grasses and whistling through the little valleys formed by the rising dunes. Soon he could hear the cries of the gulls wheeling high in the sky, and he saw the glimmer of water on the horizon. It was calming, reassuring, natural.
A dog barked.
At first Miroslav though nothing of it, too wrapped up in his world of dreams, his only escape from reality. It was only when the clear, belling tones sounded again that he was jerked into awareness. He reined Fleet in so suddenly that she snorted and reared a little, pivoting on her hind legs.
Miroslav knew that he was only a dune away from the beach. There shouldn’t have been dogs here, because dogs meant people and this was his spot! The weren’t supposed to be here, not at his last escape from humanity.
Half angry, half nervous, Miroslav dismounted, rubbing an annoyed Fleet on the nose consolingly. Bending down, he hobbled her and then started to creep up to the crest of the dune.
The sight took his breath away. The clear waters of the Great Ocean crashed on the beach; gold, green and blue glinting in their depths, the pearly white of the sea foam contrasting sharply with the tan of wet sand. Beyond the waves, the gulls were bobbing up and down on the swell, calling to their fellows soaring above them. The procession of dunes tapered gently down to the clean, white sands, giving off a comforting warmth in the afternoon sun.
But all that paled compared to the vision he was blessed with, so achingly close yet so far. A young man was playing on the beach with a large, golden dog. He could make out a strong body, capped by a handsome face and messy mahogany hair.
But what captivated him most was the laughter.