Finders, Keepers
Seagulls screeched at him when Tatharlyn made his way over a small dune speckled by old yellow-colored grass, to the seashore. He stopped on the top of the dune to breath in fresh, salty sea air. The clouds were still hanging low, but the storm had passed. He had spent the whole yesterday inside, mopping the floors and arranging the new books his teacher had purchased, cheap from a foreclosed old house just outside the city. Some of the books were unintelligible, as the ink had bled through the pages through the years the house has stood abandoned, roof leaking and bats making theirs nests in the attic. Some of the books were unsalvageable pieces of pulp and moss, and it had been given as his task to see which could be saved and which could be not. It had taken him all the afternoon and most of the evening, until he had gone through all the boxes but one. Yet, his teacher had had something else in mind for him, and she had told him to leave the last box for some other time when it would be raining, or he would be out of anything else to do.
Tatharlyn had been more than surprised when she had said he could take the afternoon off, because she would be having some important guests over. He suspected it was because she didn’t want him around, not because he would be snooping -he never did such thing! - but because the color of his skin would raise questions in ones who were not accustomed to seeing him around the city. Most were slowly starting to get used to him, and he didn’t get as many stares as in the beginning. Drunkards would still yell at him and old ladies hold on to their purses tighter like he would try to rob them in broad daylight. Not that he would have done so in nighttime either, but it still felt bad and made him feel blue. You got used to it after a while and learn not to take it personally, but for a boy with a soft personality it was like a slap on the face.
So instead Tatharlyn had decided to take a walk on the beach. He was curious about what the storm had washed to the shore. He was content to search for seashells he could use as garden decoration. They would look very pretty lining the edges of the flowerbeds. And maybe he could take the few prettiest ones to his room and put them on his shelf for display, among the other pretty things he had collected. He had a habit of collecting small things wherever he walked. Pretty pebbles, strange-colored leaves or oddly shaped sticks. He also had few feathers, his favorite being probably from an owl. It was white with black spots, and he had never seen an owl of that color, but that was the conclusion he had come when consulting a book about birds.
Tatharlyn hummed happily, using his staff as a walking cane. It was also quite handy when you didn’t want to touch all the slimy things, and for turning over planks and rocks without getting accidentally attacked by a crab that had taken shelter under the debris. His staff wasn’t nothing fancy, but he liked it. It was a good old branch, with a natural knot in the end. It had been cleaned up and polished though, so it wasn’t in its original natural state anymore, most likely because that wouldn’t have sold as well, but it wasn’t as polished nor made of expensive materials like he had seen some wizards having. But he liked his staff, even if it was just ordinary common wood, perhaps oak or maple, and not some exotic species which name he couldn’t even pronounce correctly. It was sturdy, but not too heavy. He used it quite often to get things from the highest shelves he couldn’t quite reach.
Ha! There was one!
He let out a joyous huff, when he reached to gather a brightly colored speckled seashell and stash it into his bag. It was pretty one, green with white oval spots. He knew it was some local species, but he kept his eyes open for some rarer ones, like red ones which were quite big and looked like horns. Kids around here called them ‘demon horns’. They lived somewhere deeper in the sea and were rarely seen in one piece on the surface. Some smaller pieces sometimes drifted around, but they were always so smashed. How cool would it be to find almost an intact one!
There were also some old planks, probably originally from wooden boxes. Containers fallen of a ship, perhaps. Mainly empty though, aside from one which had remnants of unknown sacks and something sticky on the bottom. He didn’t poke it though as it looked ominous. Maybe a sea creature got caught in and was now deteriorating… into a foul-smelling mush. He noticed there was a tattered sail of a boat. Some driftwood too, which he thought could make a nice piece of decoration, being washed by countless of waves which had polished all the hard edges away. But it was too heavy for him to carry, and he wasn’t sure what his teacher would say about him deciding to take a piece of wet firewood into the living room, so he let it be.
Tiny crabs were scuttling before him, searching for shelter among some piles of deep green seaweed. It still smelled like storm. Wind was brisk, but even it couldn’t completely take the odor away. Tatharlyn tried his best not to step on the little creatures barely bigger than his thumbnail. They were still pale-colored and would gain their characteristic adult coloration when they would be bigger, after a year or two. He had once seen a huge old one, or more like he had seen the shell of it. It had been the size of a dinner table and being sold as a curiosity. The owner of the shop had told them that it could probably be used to make some armor, like the sea elves apparently often did, if the seller was to be believed.
Tatharlyn burrowed his brows when he noticed something glimmering in the sand, just in the waterline. He walked to it, cautiously, and then poked it with his staff. Nothing. It was about the size of a tea plate and felt hard. It sounded almost ceramic when he gently knocked it with the end of his staff. He had to dig some sand to get it moving, but after he used his staff as leverage, it moved easily and popped up from the sand. He stared at it curiously and when he realized what it was, he let out a silent gasp. Lifeless eyes stared back at him, full lips frozen in an eternal pout, carved in stone. A head of a statue. Tatharlyn let out a deep, relieved sigh. For a moment he had really gotten scared.
He crouched and observed the head carefully. He brushed sand off the surface and tried to work things out. It was hard to tell if it was a human or not. The ears had snapped and the lull of millions of waved had smoother the edges so if they had been sharp like those of an elf, they now were soft, round and small. He thought it was a she, but it could have been a very handsome man as well, with full lips and stern, slightly concerned look. The stone was white, so marble, perhaps? A head of a statuette. Where had it stood originally? Maybe it was a garden decoration or the head of some unknown goddess of god? Maybe it belonged into a temple then? But it didn’t seem local, that was what he could tell. He gently raised it into his lap and washed the rest of the sand away. Now it looked even prettier. It was quite heavy, he measured, perhaps at least few pounds, solid stone. At least that’s how it felt, but he had to admit he wasn’t an expert on mineralogy or art history, so he could have told something by just inspecting the material.
Tatharlyn stopped in the corridor just when he stepped in, to listen closely. He heard distant discussion going on, so it was likely the guests were still there. To avoid any attention towards himself, he slipped quietly further and hurriedly tiptoed into his room to the second floor. He closed the door after him and emptied his bag onto his bed. Couple of handfuls of colored seashells, couple of pretty pebbles (one white and one reddish brown one which had a white streak in the middle), a piece of colored glass, and his biggest find; the head.
Maybe it can be used as a paper weight, he pondered, when he lifted it to inspect it closer. No makers mark or anything else that could have identified it further. The curls he or she had had been mostly smoothed away, so even the haircut couldn’t tell him much. He let out a huff and let it to that. Alright, keep your secrets, you mystical head, Tatharlyn decided and made some space for it in his bookshelf. It got the best ‘seat’ so to say, next to his feathers and one almost whole orange-colored conch shell he had found a few months earlier.
Tatharlyn had been more than surprised when she had said he could take the afternoon off, because she would be having some important guests over. He suspected it was because she didn’t want him around, not because he would be snooping -he never did such thing! - but because the color of his skin would raise questions in ones who were not accustomed to seeing him around the city. Most were slowly starting to get used to him, and he didn’t get as many stares as in the beginning. Drunkards would still yell at him and old ladies hold on to their purses tighter like he would try to rob them in broad daylight. Not that he would have done so in nighttime either, but it still felt bad and made him feel blue. You got used to it after a while and learn not to take it personally, but for a boy with a soft personality it was like a slap on the face.
So instead Tatharlyn had decided to take a walk on the beach. He was curious about what the storm had washed to the shore. He was content to search for seashells he could use as garden decoration. They would look very pretty lining the edges of the flowerbeds. And maybe he could take the few prettiest ones to his room and put them on his shelf for display, among the other pretty things he had collected. He had a habit of collecting small things wherever he walked. Pretty pebbles, strange-colored leaves or oddly shaped sticks. He also had few feathers, his favorite being probably from an owl. It was white with black spots, and he had never seen an owl of that color, but that was the conclusion he had come when consulting a book about birds.
Tatharlyn hummed happily, using his staff as a walking cane. It was also quite handy when you didn’t want to touch all the slimy things, and for turning over planks and rocks without getting accidentally attacked by a crab that had taken shelter under the debris. His staff wasn’t nothing fancy, but he liked it. It was a good old branch, with a natural knot in the end. It had been cleaned up and polished though, so it wasn’t in its original natural state anymore, most likely because that wouldn’t have sold as well, but it wasn’t as polished nor made of expensive materials like he had seen some wizards having. But he liked his staff, even if it was just ordinary common wood, perhaps oak or maple, and not some exotic species which name he couldn’t even pronounce correctly. It was sturdy, but not too heavy. He used it quite often to get things from the highest shelves he couldn’t quite reach.
Ha! There was one!
He let out a joyous huff, when he reached to gather a brightly colored speckled seashell and stash it into his bag. It was pretty one, green with white oval spots. He knew it was some local species, but he kept his eyes open for some rarer ones, like red ones which were quite big and looked like horns. Kids around here called them ‘demon horns’. They lived somewhere deeper in the sea and were rarely seen in one piece on the surface. Some smaller pieces sometimes drifted around, but they were always so smashed. How cool would it be to find almost an intact one!
There were also some old planks, probably originally from wooden boxes. Containers fallen of a ship, perhaps. Mainly empty though, aside from one which had remnants of unknown sacks and something sticky on the bottom. He didn’t poke it though as it looked ominous. Maybe a sea creature got caught in and was now deteriorating… into a foul-smelling mush. He noticed there was a tattered sail of a boat. Some driftwood too, which he thought could make a nice piece of decoration, being washed by countless of waves which had polished all the hard edges away. But it was too heavy for him to carry, and he wasn’t sure what his teacher would say about him deciding to take a piece of wet firewood into the living room, so he let it be.
Tiny crabs were scuttling before him, searching for shelter among some piles of deep green seaweed. It still smelled like storm. Wind was brisk, but even it couldn’t completely take the odor away. Tatharlyn tried his best not to step on the little creatures barely bigger than his thumbnail. They were still pale-colored and would gain their characteristic adult coloration when they would be bigger, after a year or two. He had once seen a huge old one, or more like he had seen the shell of it. It had been the size of a dinner table and being sold as a curiosity. The owner of the shop had told them that it could probably be used to make some armor, like the sea elves apparently often did, if the seller was to be believed.
Tatharlyn burrowed his brows when he noticed something glimmering in the sand, just in the waterline. He walked to it, cautiously, and then poked it with his staff. Nothing. It was about the size of a tea plate and felt hard. It sounded almost ceramic when he gently knocked it with the end of his staff. He had to dig some sand to get it moving, but after he used his staff as leverage, it moved easily and popped up from the sand. He stared at it curiously and when he realized what it was, he let out a silent gasp. Lifeless eyes stared back at him, full lips frozen in an eternal pout, carved in stone. A head of a statue. Tatharlyn let out a deep, relieved sigh. For a moment he had really gotten scared.
He crouched and observed the head carefully. He brushed sand off the surface and tried to work things out. It was hard to tell if it was a human or not. The ears had snapped and the lull of millions of waved had smoother the edges so if they had been sharp like those of an elf, they now were soft, round and small. He thought it was a she, but it could have been a very handsome man as well, with full lips and stern, slightly concerned look. The stone was white, so marble, perhaps? A head of a statuette. Where had it stood originally? Maybe it was a garden decoration or the head of some unknown goddess of god? Maybe it belonged into a temple then? But it didn’t seem local, that was what he could tell. He gently raised it into his lap and washed the rest of the sand away. Now it looked even prettier. It was quite heavy, he measured, perhaps at least few pounds, solid stone. At least that’s how it felt, but he had to admit he wasn’t an expert on mineralogy or art history, so he could have told something by just inspecting the material.
Tatharlyn stopped in the corridor just when he stepped in, to listen closely. He heard distant discussion going on, so it was likely the guests were still there. To avoid any attention towards himself, he slipped quietly further and hurriedly tiptoed into his room to the second floor. He closed the door after him and emptied his bag onto his bed. Couple of handfuls of colored seashells, couple of pretty pebbles (one white and one reddish brown one which had a white streak in the middle), a piece of colored glass, and his biggest find; the head.
Maybe it can be used as a paper weight, he pondered, when he lifted it to inspect it closer. No makers mark or anything else that could have identified it further. The curls he or she had had been mostly smoothed away, so even the haircut couldn’t tell him much. He let out a huff and let it to that. Alright, keep your secrets, you mystical head, Tatharlyn decided and made some space for it in his bookshelf. It got the best ‘seat’ so to say, next to his feathers and one almost whole orange-colored conch shell he had found a few months earlier.
***
This is the second story of Tatharlyn Felcoren.
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