#27rantinglilies

The gathering was larger than he expected.

Roy's mother had been a kind woman, always with a story to share and fish to sell. But never would he had guessed that she was loved by so many.

The trawlermen and woman left offerings of ship rope and netting, they bowed their heads and shook his hand, "your mother always helped out when one of us was ill."

He never knew she was taking extra work and for no coin or payment as well, she would come home tired most days, salty sea air clinging to her clothes and a fish rapped in newspaper for dinner in hand.

The head faith leader approached the grave, her eyes solemn and hands reaching for his "I think your mother would want you to have this."

Passed from her hand to Roy's was a book. He remembers her reading to him most nights growing up, storys from the old time, from before, all past down from sorry souls with only their words left. Feeling the worn cover and faded letter indents, he knew this was hers.

It was secondhand and tattered. It wasn't quite a text from any of the old religions, no talk of a man leading people to salvation or phophets reciting words sent from above. It was the tale of life. The force of trees uprooting, wind singing to the sea and a tiny seed of exsistants that we all seem to be, an assortment of history's most don't follow. but she did.

He would try to do the same, he'd rather believe her story's than believe her gone. She lived on in his mind now. She lived on in the trees, she was a voice singing with the wind, she traveled calmer seas and whispered flowers in bloom. She was not gone, merely transformed. She was anew.

I count on being the criptic old women in the back of a cave, people sometimes come for a prophecy but all they get are memes. They probably take them seriously. I give zeros effs. I accept cats as payment.

(Currently wip)

When the weary travel they hold their hope in a candle.

Roy had never traveled by sea before, he'd taken the first navel ship out of the white Isles, on a crisp June morning. The sea air was fresh, the rocky coastline of the small fishing town a thin line against the skys pale blue expanse.

"aye up boy!" grunted an older sailor, he was old and ruff in apperence, his gait was one used to a life on deck.

Throwing a thick, coiled rope down behind Roy, and leaning against the ships railing he bagan to roll a cigar, "you know a life on the sea isnt an easy one, if I where you I'd swim back to the promenade."

Roy was completely aware of the dangers most men met on the harsh waters, many found their death and those that didn't wished they had.

"I know what I'm getting myself in for."

He watched the busy Dock grow smaller in the distance, home was now behind him, he was ready for a new start. The old man eyed Roy in contemplation, took a long drag of his cigar and followed Roy's gaze out to the water and disappearing shoreline, the rich smell of tabbaco settled between them.

"The water changes you, I'm not the same man I was when I first stepped on board this ship"

he turned to Roy, his eyes worried and brow serious "is this what you want boy, to be so changed you can't go back."