By the Seaside

The Day was beautiful, so Tatharlyn decided to go for a short riding trip.

The Wind from north-east raised white-topped waves, a stormbird’s call was barely audible through the whirling of the wind. But otherwise it was a pretty day: The Sun shone brightly and warmed his skin when Tatharlyn rode on his gelding named Seharan by the seaside. Then he spotted his favorite tree, Seharan already stopping a few feet from it. It knew that this was the place where they often went, and as it didn’t mind a small pause to feed on the fresh grass and first sprouts of spring, it gladly stopped.

”Alright, boy. Stay here for a while.”

Tatharlyn said, when he slid down from the saddle and tied the speckled horse loosely to a tree by the reins. He reached for his bag and dug out couple of carrots, which he carefully offered to his horse. Seharan blew softly through its nostrils and reached closer, and after considering his rider’s offers adequate, took the offered sacrifice and turned away to munch them.

Tatharlyn sighed a little and sought a place to sit, which he quickly found on a small, yet wide rock. Its dark surface was warmed by the afternoon sun, which felt pleasant when he sat down. The city loomed further away along the coastline. This was the farthest he had courage to stray from the city, as the ride back home took a bit over 30 minutes, in varying amounts of trot and canter. Seharan, sadly, unlike the other horses, didn't know how to amble. It was one of the many reasons why it wouldn’t have been used for breeding, as the horses back home were treasured for their ability to perform in amble gait, which was pleasant for the riders and horses alike.

He breathed in the salty sea air and took out his notebook and a piece of charcoal, closing his eyes. Seharan still crunched the last pieces of the carrots, the call of the stormbirds was now almost too distant to hear properly. The sound of waves echoing made his heart feel more at ease. He liked it here near the waterfront. Much calmer than in the city. But he dared not to come here too often, so his teacher wouldn’t have any reason to scold him for being absent and lazy. But this was his own place, this lone tree by the seashore. You had the perfect view over the lands and one could easily see every ship coming and going. No white sails in sight this time, he noticed to his disappointment when he opened his eyes again. Must be because the wind was rising, hinting that a storm was gathering. Still too far away but slowly closing in. Some smaller row boats were there, just outside the harbor. From this far they were smaller than those tiny boats, made of tree bark, which children loved to craft and race in the rivers and ditches during the spring floods.

Tatharlyn started to sketch. He wasn’t very good at it, but he tried to capture the feeling of the moment; the warm sunshine, strong blow of wind, the white waves and rising storm. Something had also changed from the last time he had been here. Flowers had started to bloom, and to his delight he noticed that the acorn he had planted last autumn was just now starting to sprout. No doubt of it. He knealed by the small sapling barely the size of his little finger and diligently sketched its delicate little leaves in his notebook. He wrote under the picture: ‘The acorn has sprouted. I wish it will grow into a big oak, so the birds will have another tree to build their nests in.’

He put his notebook away but reached for the whistle he always carried everywhere with him. He wasn’t much of a minstrel, but he enjoyed it nonetheless. Although it was hard to practice and become better in it, as he didn’t want to disturb his teacher, so he had to practice somewhere else than in the house, and there weren’t many places he could have done so. This was the only one, actually.

“I picked up the first flowers of spring and brought them to my lover’s grave…”

The song that came to him first was so sad that he had to pause in the middle.

Sigh.

He put the whistle away. He wasn’t personally tormented by the unknown faith of his biological father, but it still made him lose his good mood. Mother had been quite sure that he was surely out there, happily singing and dancing in some forest or on the plains with others of his kind. And that was good enough for him too. He couldn’t deny that he wouldn’t have liked, especially when he was younger, just to think that his father was dead. It would have made things a lot easier to explain to everyone. And maybe to himself, too. Yet it made him, in an odd way, a little happy to think that he was there somewhere, sitting by the campfire and frying a rabbit on fire with all his friends and family. That everything was good with him, always traveling and never sleeping in the same place twice. It sounded almost romantic to be able to live such a carefree life. Even if some said they were thieves and rapscallions.

The wind seemed to change direction and carried a hint of rain with it. Tatharlyn packed his bag and stood up, brushing grass and leaves off his clothes.

“Seharan, I think we need to get back before it starts to rain.”

He pointed out to the horse, who was lazily grazing. The clouds were now visibly gathering on the horizon, cloaking the sun behind a thick wall of grey.