Hello again people of the internet, here I am again with another of these Tiny Tales. If you’re just tuning in now, this segment is where I find a piece of art on the internet and create a story around it. This week I have picked something from the amazingly talented artist Isriana. Now without further ado, another short story for your reading pleasure.
(Springtime in Old Stros M’Kai by Isriana)
It was a darkening evening in Old Stros M’Kai when a white-haired man strode across its shores. The lighthouse in the distance was still yet unlit, but that would change come a little more time. The waves lapped gently against the shores as he walked, his every fifth step punctuated by the gentle rush of the salted shores. He looked up to the sky of Old Stros M’Kai and thought of the place and the time that he loved.
It was peaceful here. A far cry from the fighting that at times seemed all too pointless. He never wanted to be a soldier, but he never had a choice. But now all that he wanted was to be with that woman he saw that last time it was Spring in Old Stros M’Kai.
He could remember her as if she stood before him now. Her skin was as soft as the sand he walked upon, her breath as gentle as the warm breeze. He thought it was too cliche to describe her eyes as the sea or the sky, but without those overused metaphors he couldn’t begin to describe how their infinite depths made him feel. The stars peeking through the amethyst sky could not match the radiance of her smile and her lute could soothe the soul of any beast or man. She was immortal to him, a constant in this world of shifting sand.
He was close now. He could hear her song on the wind, the sight of her smile and the curls of her hair. He quickened his pace. It would not be long until he was reunited with her, his love of Old Stros M’Kai.
And like that, there she was. Sitting where she always was with her hair caught by the wind, holding her lute like a delicate treasure and looking to the horizon for a bright future. He sat down beside her and looked with her, though she did not acknowledge his presence. He did not mind. He was with her now in the place that he loved, in the life that he loved.
He looked to her and saw the flower that he had given her the last time he had visited had wilted away to nothingness. But it was alright. Taking away the withered bulb he threaded a fresh one through her locks. He knew she was pleased with the gesture as she wore her signature statuesque smile. How he adored that smile.
He did not know how long he sat there. It was enough just to be with her in silence, feeling the warmth of the setting sun and watching its light dance on the lapping waves of the ocean, the vibrant air glittering with uncountable stars as her faint music weaved through his mind. He did not care that he would have to leave again, he would hold onto this moment as if it lasted forever. She would always be here for him and he was duty bound to return that favour whenever he could.
He began to cry but he didn’t know why. Perhaps it was joy. Yes, it must be joy. For he was here with his love in Old Stros M’Kai. She would never leave. She could never leave. So he must stay with her for as long as he could. He admired her resilience. All alone, a fortress of stone against the wind and sand and time. He began to lean on her, feeling the weight of the world leaving his shoulders
In Spring he was safe. In Spring he was calm. In Spring he would die in Old Stros M’Kai.