Joaqim scuffed his bare feet through the damp sand near the water?s edge. His brown eyes scoured the beach, looking for the tell-tale depressions in the sand that hid clams beneath. His woven basket was already almost full ? nobody else ventured this far from the village, not anymore, and so he was the only one to reap the bounty. But if he got just a few more, Iona would be able to sell some. And besides, there was a dark shape just a little way further up the beach. If the storm two days before had washed up anything interesting or valuable, he had an obligation to investigate.
He was already rehearsing the excuses he would use when he noticed the strange behavior of the birds. Normally they would be hopping over the storm-wrack, picking through it for food. Instead they kept bouncing forward cautiously and then fluttering back with a rush of wings. Joaqim?s eyes widened and he ran forward with the basket swinging wildly over his arm. When he got close enough to see the cause of the bird?s strange behavior, he almost mimicked them, dancing backwards. There was a man caught in a tangle of rope and wood, his clothing and appearance strange and foreign.
After a moment, however, Joaqim set down the basket and eased cautiously closer. The man wasn?t moving despite the uncomfortable-appearing drape of his body across the wood. His right arm was twisted almost entirely underneath his body and trapped in the tangle, and there was pallor underneath the tan and weathering of his skin. Maybe the man was dead. If he was dead, the clothing would be worth something at market. And there was a glint of metal on his left shoulder ? metal could always be sold, no matter what kind.
It wasn?t too hard for Joaqim to work his way into the middle of the tangle where the man was trapped. Clever brown fingers began picking at the ropes, trying to free the knots, while Joaqim shot short glances at the man out of the corner of his eyes. He still wasn?t moving, didn?t look to be breathing ? was that a breath or just the rising tide stirring the wood? Surely it was just the tide. Nobody who was alive would lie so still for so long. And as Joaqim grew more frustrated with the water-swollen knots of hemp, he stopped looking at the man so carefully.
So when he freed the last knot and turned back to start stripping the corpse, Joaqim was entirely unprepared to meet a fever-bright gaze from black eyes. The boy froze, his own brown eyes going wider and wider when a string of incomprehensible syllables whispered from the man, his voice cracked and dried by salt water and fever. ?D? tha thu ag iarraidh? Tha gaol agam ort, Moira mo croidhe, ach chan eil fhios agam tha thu ag iarraidh.?*
Joaqim lurched backwards, shifting the mass of wood, and the man cried out when it twisted his right arm further. Those strange black too-bright eyes closed when the man passed out. The boy scrambled back off of the wreckage and ran, sand flying from beneath his bare feet. The basket of clams was forgotten next to the wood, and his voice was high and piercing as he called out, still running. <Iona! Iona!!>
*?What do you want? I love you, Moira my heart, but I don?t know what you want.?
He was already rehearsing the excuses he would use when he noticed the strange behavior of the birds. Normally they would be hopping over the storm-wrack, picking through it for food. Instead they kept bouncing forward cautiously and then fluttering back with a rush of wings. Joaqim?s eyes widened and he ran forward with the basket swinging wildly over his arm. When he got close enough to see the cause of the bird?s strange behavior, he almost mimicked them, dancing backwards. There was a man caught in a tangle of rope and wood, his clothing and appearance strange and foreign.
After a moment, however, Joaqim set down the basket and eased cautiously closer. The man wasn?t moving despite the uncomfortable-appearing drape of his body across the wood. His right arm was twisted almost entirely underneath his body and trapped in the tangle, and there was pallor underneath the tan and weathering of his skin. Maybe the man was dead. If he was dead, the clothing would be worth something at market. And there was a glint of metal on his left shoulder ? metal could always be sold, no matter what kind.
It wasn?t too hard for Joaqim to work his way into the middle of the tangle where the man was trapped. Clever brown fingers began picking at the ropes, trying to free the knots, while Joaqim shot short glances at the man out of the corner of his eyes. He still wasn?t moving, didn?t look to be breathing ? was that a breath or just the rising tide stirring the wood? Surely it was just the tide. Nobody who was alive would lie so still for so long. And as Joaqim grew more frustrated with the water-swollen knots of hemp, he stopped looking at the man so carefully.
So when he freed the last knot and turned back to start stripping the corpse, Joaqim was entirely unprepared to meet a fever-bright gaze from black eyes. The boy froze, his own brown eyes going wider and wider when a string of incomprehensible syllables whispered from the man, his voice cracked and dried by salt water and fever. ?D? tha thu ag iarraidh? Tha gaol agam ort, Moira mo croidhe, ach chan eil fhios agam tha thu ag iarraidh.?*
Joaqim lurched backwards, shifting the mass of wood, and the man cried out when it twisted his right arm further. Those strange black too-bright eyes closed when the man passed out. The boy scrambled back off of the wreckage and ran, sand flying from beneath his bare feet. The basket of clams was forgotten next to the wood, and his voice was high and piercing as he called out, still running. <Iona! Iona!!>
*?What do you want? I love you, Moira my heart, but I don?t know what you want.?