#morayblackmore

Elistra’s lungs filled with brisk sea air as she walked the winding path from the secluded chapel towards the town centre. There was a shawl draped around her shoulders that Cecil had insisted she take with her, citing the chill that had crept up on Port Vale overnight and lingered still in the early hours of the morning. The sun’s bright reflection glimmered like a jewel in the water, almost like it was beckoning her to come back into its embrace. With a sigh and a soft smile, Elistra only walked on, a wicker basket hanging from the crook of her arm whose cargo she had offered to deliver. The rasp in Cecil’s chest was back. It looked like it was going to be a difficult winter. 

The lighthouse sprung up from the cliffs in front of her as she approached it, a testament to human compassion and ingenuity. Or at least that was what she’d thought when she’d first heard of the concept. A light to guide those reckless human’s back to land. Now she wasn’t so sure that was entirely right, not after living in town for so long and hearing the stories about this lighthouse. How ships wrecked themselves beneath it. Now when she pictured it in her mind, the image of a buried anglerfish appeared instead, its lure sticking straight up from the ground and attracting its prey into its cliffy maw. 

She knocked on the front door, three sharp and sure wraps of her knuckles. “Special delivery for a Mister Blackmore,” she called, pulling the shawl tighter around her shoulders. She knew Moray would be inside and would likely be awake. In fact, she wasn’t sure when the man slept, or if anyone ever came to relieve him. Maybe that was why Cecil worried about him so much. “Very urgent so you better open up!”

[CHANEL 2] loud and sudden static

There was an eerie kind of quietness to the winding path from the chapel towards the rest of town, towards the lighthouse, where Elistra was headed. The early morning sun cascaded through the broken branches of the trees that stretched overhead, snapped and mangled bones dangled and threatened to fall and add to the messy pile already littering the ground. Mud covered the edges of her boots, clawing upwards with the intent of soaking her jeans. She stepped over an indent in the ground that had collected remnants of the storm, and then over a young fallen tree that she would have to take care of later, when her ribs weren’t so bruised. In her left arm was her usual basket, lighter this time, as most of her and Cecil’s time had been spent feeding those who needed shelter from the storm and its aftermath. The basics were still there, though. Consistency was important.

As she rounded a curve on the path, Elistra froze, her boots sinking into the mud. A black mass of fur the size of a small bear was stooped over a brown puddle, it’s pink tongue lapping hesitantly at the water. A dog. Maybe. Probably.

Slowly, Elistra lowered the basket to the ground and, kneeling in the mud, opened it, retrieving a package of jerky. She tried to open it as quietly as possible, but the sound still startled the dog, and he looked up, his alarmed eyes barely visible through the matted fur hanging like a canopy over his head. They both stayed still, hanging in the moment. And then Elistra spoke. “Hello,” she said softly, watching the dog flinch. “Are you hungry? That puddle will only cause you problems.” She reached into the packet of jerky and offered the dried meat to the dog. A few seconds passed, and the dog took a small step towards her- Elistra smiled encouragingly.  

And then a sea bird shrieked overhead, launching itself from a branch and tearing towards the cliffs. The sound startled them both and the dog yelped and started to run- limping, like there was something wrong with one of his paws- away from Elistra.

When Elistra had woken up that morning there had been frost creeping at the edges of her window. A thin layer of snow blanketed the decaying leaves and stung her skin as it fell from the gray sky above. As she walked towards the lighthouse she looked out towards the horizon and the water below. It no longer looked inviting, like it had a few months prior. Elistra knew that once she slipped beneath the waves the water would be so frigid that all the air would be crushed from her chest in a violent gasp. She also knew that it would likely be her last gulp of air for days.

Trotting along in front of her was Excalibur. He seemed well suited to the cold, unlike her in her thick knitted scarf and hat. Excalibur didn’t know that they were nearly an hour late, that Elistra had stalled nearly all morning, eating slowly and mindlessly, her thoughts elsewhere. In the crook of her elbow was the usual basket, but the contents weren’t the same. Along with some hand cream she’d picked up at the drugstore in the next town over, there was also the stuffed toy she’d won at the halloween festival for Excalibur, his bowl, and a package of the food the vet had suggested for the elderly dog.

When she finally got to the cottage door she raised her hand to knock. Then she hesitated. Elistra looked down to Excalibur who sat at her feet, looking up at her as his tail swept away the snow in lazy wags. “You behave yourself, okay? Make sure nothing bad happens while I’m gone. Promise?” There was no reaction from Excalibur, who couldn’t possibly know what she had planned. So, having stood in the cold for long enough, Elistra sighed and through the cloud of her condensed breath, knocked on the cottage door.

A pause. "Anything?" There was no one like that. There never had been. "Well, I know I could go to Cecil with anything, but I wouldn't go to him for everything. And I can talk to Dorey about certain things about my past before Port Vale, and I can go to Steph or Kyree with questions I might have on any topic I could think of. I like talking to Moray too, when I go to visit with food."

That could have been a satisfying answer, but Elistra felt strangely defensive. It wasn't as if she didn't want to share her entire self with her friends and family, it was only that she couldn't. "I think it's natural for people not to know everything about you. The only person who can really know the truth of you, is yourself."