The Rising Tide

"You cannot hide from the rising tide. Run faster boy, 'cause I am coming to catch ya." He opened his eyes.

Crunch, crunch, crunch went the gravel beneath his feet. A curtain twitched as the nervous family inside the farmhouse peeked out at the approaching storm. Already the sky was razor-blade grey and the winds were rising from a soft call across the water to a hoarse scream. He tucked his hands deeper into the pockets of his mac, and hunched his shoulders. The family had spotted him, the curtain twitched and spasmed as they crowded in to look. They needn't have bothered. Before he reached the door to their cottage he cut to the side, towards a muddy paddock fenced with broken stakes. The paddock //IMPRISONED// a scruffy goat, whose coat was smoke silver and thickly matted with mud and feces. But the horns... he whistled in appreciation.Thick, and tightly curled – two whorls of obsidian upon its head.He vaulted the rickety fence and approached the animal. It did not flinch from him, as it should have, but allowed him to approach and lay a hand on its magnificent horns with admiration.

"How are you, little friend?" The goat stared back at him with its water-sack eyes. "Silly question, isn't it? There's just a torrent,isn't there? A torrent of feelings and instincts inside your head –but no thoughts to restrain them. No structure. It's pandemonium in there, isn't it?"

The rain was starting, the silver thunderheads becoming black-grey warheads. The day was darkening, had already darkened some.The family peeked once more into the gloom at the stranger as the sky flashed blue with lighting – and at that instant they saw his shadow leap up, and horns sprout from his skull and the wings of a bat flare behind him. The instant dissolved, the perspective resolved, and they watched him pat the goat once more.

"You are most beautiful, dread-master; as now, so forever – I am your slave. I go to do our work, our noblest of work. I shall return to you anon. Enjoy the grass." He bowed, and disappeared into the lashing rain.

Step after step, that's the way to travel. A poor way, but most certainly //THE WAY//, placing one foot in front of the other, in front of the other, until you arrived. No gravel crunching this time(sigh) now was all grass and slick mud going squelch and squish, each footfall like a swinging fist sinking into a fat man's stomach. He crested a rise, and through the veil of raindrops made out an orange haze – a village. And past that – the churning mess of the ocean. There was still a fair way to go, and he had been travelling far already. He stopped by the roadside and watched for a while. Watched nothing. Watched the rain fall, and watched the texture of the iron bellies of the storm-clouds drifting above. The rain pelted harder, and he shook his head, scattering water like a dog. Rested,it was time to go down to the village.

Vast waves roiled and churned out in the bay.The water was a dirty grey and the swell topped twenty feet. No sailor would go out in that weather, and so they stayed in. Some stayed at home, others stayed with friends or other grounded fishermen. Most went to The Siren's Pride, the local pub, and rode out the storm with beer and conversation. The bay in which the storm raged enclosed a small village, where most every man was a fisherman. Thus, most every man was at The Siren's Pride. The village was too small to merit any kind of attraction, the only other buildings were a grocers and a general store that mainly sold tackle, wet-weather clothes, and canned food. But the outsider was here for a reason. The outsider was waiting, much as the sailors were, though he was waiting not for the storm to stop but for a storm of a different kind. He passed the marina, to which several small fishing boats were moored. With a slanted smile, he spoke to himself.

"It seems that the fishermen are shirking their duty." He walked on past cottages - stone-walled, low - and the grocers. He came upon The Siren's Pride. The sound of raucous laughter and singing filled the air. "Methinks I hear a fisherman's song, and methinks I spy a place to get a drink." The outsider walked in without hesitating, a harshly mocking hint of a smile on his face and a mountain of contempt within his heart.