Sunset at Curtain Falls

"There could be things down there, you don't know."

It would be trite to say that A rolls A's eyes, prim and tart, at this ham-fisted remark from Minoth, but A does. A regards the ocean as a distant companion, the oldest living organism in the world which contains, more than passes through, all its constituents.

"There are things down there. I do know. Though I don't make a habit of submerging, the action is not beyond me."

All the rest of their companions are pursuing more traditional activities - trekking the boardwalk, reading summer novels, having a barbecue, chatting in a screened-in porch.

It's too cold for diving. Minoth wades, staring at A stood erect, further out, a perfect perch for seagulls, but they only circle above.

Minoth can't help it. He loves stories. He can gab with the best and the worst, but he can listen even better, when A deigns to talk. Some burst of quiescent confidence draws him into A's orbit, and he stands behind A, arms silently laid over A's shoulders to catch the swirling eddy of time.

"I guess I would want to return, if I were you."

But how could anyone possibly be?

The fact that A can even stand in the ocean, contacted but not enveloped, is unfathomable to Minoth.

"Either the sea or the sword."

A's tail begins to dissolve.

"Neither the sea nor the sand."