Parents: The Beastly Fisherman
A raft. A raft is what you would build if you were stranded on a deserted island with only your burning desire for civilization to keep you company. You would build a raft if you needed to cross a stream and couldn’t risk going under the water. A raft you’ll build if you had a boy who wanted to be a sailor and you were teaching him basic ship making. That was not why Dorus built the raft. He didn’t build the raft for any of those reasons. He wasn’t on a deserted island though he did feel alone. He didn’t need to cross a stream thought there were some waters he dared not tread. He didn’t show anyone the woodwork though the illusionist, Torin, regarded him with some interest. “No grave, then,” Torin said, casually, from the rock where he sat looking over a twig with his one good hand. “No grave,” Dorus responded with a voice that sounded more gravelly than usual, tired and haggard. “You don’t know where they are?” Dorus pulled on the rope, tightening the knot and then tying another one for good measure. “Mom gone before I could remember. Think she died at childbirth but father wouldn’t talk about it. He was lost at sea, a terrible storm, while I had only 15 winters to me.” “So, no grave.” Torin repeated. “No grave.” Dorus acknowledged, a little more solemnly. He walked over to the pile of unused timber, next to the rock Torin sat Continue Reading →
Posted in From the Writing Desk by Eran with 4 comments.