“Might I ask you a question, good man?” The Knight quietly asks, their voice echoing slightly from within the confines of their helm as the sea breeze did its best to drown their voice out. Not that it did.

  “Hm. Whatever happened to rusticus?” The fisherman then promptly fired back a question of his own. His hands were busy as he shuffled about back and forth, busily tending to the ropes that bound the leather covers of an apparently loaded boat. The summer air was warm thick with the swirling, mixing stenches of staleness, cooked meat, and the wet, mossy brines of the sea. He could almost chew it, and the thought alone almost made his stomach turn inside out.

  “I… thought better of it.” They admit, albeit with some hesitation.

  “That so?”

  It had been a busy evening. The sun had set quite a while ago, fading along the vast horizon to the west. Just further in land, over the forests where fresher winds seemed keen to go. The night, however, seemed to tarry on. To the east, from atop the towering grayed ranges of The Great Divide burned another sun, just barely out of view. A smoldering red line lined the edges of the eastern sky. Its boiling red hues seeming to spill overhead as it painting the night with a thick gradient of purples that ought to only be seen in the looming of dusk and the blooming of dawn. Somewhere up there, was the moon, looming with a barely visible, almost tactless grin. The stars were nowhere to be found.

  The pair stood by the shoreline, just a few paces away from the waters. The tides were anything but calm, but it was not as if they were tumultuous either. It hissed, and crashed, and crawled up the shore, tickling the fisherman’s feet while the Knight stood further in land—The salt and water was bad for the armor, see? And it was not as if their gloved hands were dexterous enough to properly tie knots, if they even knew how. Surely, they would’ve served better doing something else.

  And so, they stood there, with their weapon—the stone cross, leaning slightly against their shoulders as they kept watch. It was a sizable, intimidating thing. Slightly taller than the Knight’s height, with the length of its arms about as broad as their shoulders, pauldrons and all. Though perhaps that was not saying much, considering that odd discovery that the Knight was, in fact, not at all that tall.

  From behind them, trails of blood lay along the sands, tracing long lines of pale fleshy red stains all the way from the village to the shore, where they then stop abruptly about a step away from the skiff that the fisherman had been tending to. Running in parallel to that, were a trail of similarly red lines, though much older and faded. Instead of a fleshy pink, the sands along that path was tinted with a rusty hue, where it then led to a large splotch of rotted colors splayed across the sands just a few paces away from the crawling tides. The fisherman didn't seem to pay it any mind, and so the Knight did not either. There were more... pressing matters that required their presence of mind.

  There were skiffs. Three of them, in fact. Only the three of them had made it through the fires relatively in tact. One, notably empty. Another, packed full, and admittedly rather crammed. And the last, which the fisherman had been tending to was occupied, yes, but there was enough space to be considered comfortable.

  “Well, ‘suppose there’s not much else to it.” The fisherman sighs, pulling his hands back from the ropes before then straightening his back. He groans, wearily. His breath had came clawing its way out of his throat after his lungs had proverbially kicked it out the door, even while his exhausted body ached from the apparent exertion. The lower right reaches of his spine, most notably, seemed to take the brunt of it all. “Shoot.”

  “…What happened?”

  “Bird.” The answer came quicker than the man had intended. Not quite as clear either. “And by that, I meant, Raven.”

  “A… what’s the word… big one, nonne?”

  “Huh.”The man slips the Knight a questioning glance, to which the Knight brings a gauntleted fist up to where there mouth should have been and then promptly clears their throat.

  “There has been… Rumors, see?”

  “…Hm.” He nods. He looked more exhausted than curious, but nonetheless, he waves a tired hand for them to continue.

  “Vero, more of a complaint, really.” They elaborated, raising a hand to their shoulders with a slight shrug. “There was this band of refugees that came along the monastery I was staying in.”

  “Priest?”

  “No, they were just villagers. Rusti—”

  “I was asking about you.”

  The Knight pauses, taken aback, even if only slightly.

  “…I am… something close to that, yes.”

  “And that something is…?”

  “Consider me a pilgrim, of sorts.”

  “…You sure don’t look it.” Certainly, the armor does say otherwise. “Inquisitor?”

  “Vah!” The Knight suddenly barks out, “Ne me illis porcis barbaris assimiles!”

  “…Didn’t quite catch that.” But it could've been an insult.

  They pause once again, taking a moment to take in a deep breath. Their armor creaks as their shoulders swell, though it could've just been their fingers as they tightened their grip around their cross. They wouldn't hit him, right?

  “Forgive my outburst. I am…” Another pause. Their head tilts lightly to the side, and the man was sure that if he could see their eyes, they would've been lilting to the side. “A wanderer, for the most part.”

  “Mm-hm.”The man nods again, but it was obvious that he didn’t quite buy it. Still, he stops his line of questioning and returns back to tending to the burlap covers of the skiffs.

  “Well, you did help me out.” He sighs, planting a foot against the base of a knot by the side of the boat, before winding the loose length rope around the base of his wrist to secure his grip. “At the very least, you don’t seem like a bad egg.” He then pulls, causing the rope to creak as it was pulled taut with a slight bouncy twang as the knot settles down.

  “But I am." The Knight says with an audible smile as they brought up a hand to their shoulders, pinching their armored fingers together with a slight, metallic click. "Paulum modo. Just a little bit."

  “Ha." The fisherman huffs. "Aren't we all?"

  At that, the pair shared a quick chuckle. Well, more of a brief huff through their noses but it was some much needed levity.

  “You were saying, by the way?”

  “Ah, yes. The Raven.” At that, the Knight stood at attention and cleared their throat. They then continue, with a slightly deeper tone that seemed just a touch bit ostentatious. But then again, Iberian. A ‘Pilgrim’, at that. “There has been a… steady increase in the passing refugees these past few weeks. They looked… worse for wear, and said that they were heading further in land.”

  Sounds familiar. A brief thought brushes the surface of the man’s mind, back to that long trek through the wilderness all those years ago. Back when he was still a child. He remembered that odd sense of wander as he stared up at the leaves, wondering if the world had always been this green, and if the air had always been this sweet. It was only much later in his life that he'd come to know the breath of the sea.

  “Just Iberians?”

  “Mostly Iberian.” The Knight nods. “Most of the… locals, shall we say, elected to stay in their homes, or so I’ve been told.”

  “Stubborn lot.” He breathes out of his nose, but some part of him had understood. It's always hard, leaving home. “Anyway, what’s this got to do with the bird?”

  “I have… conversed with several groups on separate occasions.” They continue, lowering their voice into a low, conspiratorial whisper as they looked over their shoulders for any would be eavesdroppers, as unlikely as it was. “Almost all of them seem to recount the same thing;" A dramatic pause, one that the fisherman filled with a fairly non-dramatic finisher.

  "A big black bird."

  "An ill omen." The Knight says, ignoring the man. Though whether that was intentional or not, was up for debate. They did seem fairly absorbed in their... thing. They lowered their voice, adapting an ominous affect; It seemed rather forced, however, somehow ill-fitting of what the fisherman had seen so far. "A great feathered beast, casting its shadow upon the land as it flew overhead with a loud, echoing shriek. Some thought it to be a harbinger of doom, and perhaps they were right, judging by the stories."

  "...Just a harbinger?" They weren't attacked?

  "Ati." Another nod, before they continued. "For the most part, the refugees claim that they were attacked by something else; Wolves are amongst the most common threats that I have been informed of. There are some other animals as well. Bears, boars, and sometimes even stampedes of cattle, trampling poor shepherds and village folk alike to gruesome, pulping deaths." The fisherman shuddered at the thought. He'd seen it before; A man crushed flat, his features flattened beyond recognition while his insides lay... besides him, sharing much of the same fate. The Knight continues, however, apparently unaware of the image their words have brought up. "Though some have claimed to bear witness to... shades. Undead and the like."

  The man remains quiet, a nervous tremor coursing through his hands as they hovered a yet untied knot. His palm burns, causing a quiet, irate hiss to come snaking its way in between his teeth.

  The author's narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

  “Oh.” The Knight seems to freeze, apparently having come to an unfortunate but otherwise obvious conclusion in hindsight. “I… Do forgive my indescre—”

  “No, no. It’s… fine.” The fisherman says simply, bringing up his other palm up to the air as he shook his head. He looks down at the boat before him, its contents… and sighs. Undead. “…I just... need to take a seat.” He says, walking over to the nearest stack of crates, likely still filled with either bait or tools. He couldn't have cared less, as it was unlikely he'd be going fishing any time soon.

  The pair elect to remain in silence for quite some time. It was just easier that way. Instead, they turn their attention out towards the sea, where blackened waves rolled over the horizon.

  “…Might I ask…” The Knight, their curiosity outweighing their decency begins another question, only to come droning off halfway as they had caught themselves in the midst of indulging themselves, like they already had so many times before. Thankfully, however, the man didn't seem to take offense to that.

  “…We had a catch this morning.” The man starts. “Well, saying catch is a bit much. Something washed up on shore just over there.” He then gestures towards the faded, brown splotch just a few ways off from them. “Pez dama, I think the village folk called it.”

  “Ballena?”

  “A whale, aye.” He nods, wiping the sweat of his chin with the back of his arm. “We see it every now and again. Comes up to the boats, sometimes it steals some of our catches, but most of the time, it just lets us be. So we let it be. Docile little… Well, not little, but he’s a nice fella. Nice to the touch.” A smile finds itself wistfully creeping up to the corners of his lips. “Wish my boy could’ve gone and seen it, before… Before everything, really.”

  “…Was it alone?”

  “Aye. Some of the fishermen always wondered where the rest of the family was but... Well, they say it's been there for a few years at most."

  “…I see...?”

  “Anyway, it was a massive thing. ‘Bout the size and length of nine skiffs, funnily enough. Either bundled up side by side, or lined up in a row.” He continues, spreading his arms around as if to prove his point. He quickly comes to a stop, however, the wonder in his voice dimming again somewhat. “We found it laying dead just right over there first thing in the morning. Looked a bit roughed up, bruises and tears on its skin here and there.”

  “It was attacked?”

  “Don’t know.” The man shrugs. “Heard it’s a pretty common thing; Big fishes tend to come apart once you take’em off deeper waters. They don’t do well in land, apparently—they’re just… too heavy out here. All that meat just crushes their insides, and… well, they don’t die pretty, that’s for sure.”

  “Hm? Truly” The Knight asked curiously, to which the man nods. Shamefully, they weren’t all too versed in matters of the sea. They’ve heard of accounts of whales in tomes, but reliable records were hard to find. Too many are blowhards, all too willing to feign a few strokes of history, and too many are scribes and historians who were simply all too human. “So, what did you do with it?"

  “Free meat." The man says simply. "Feels bad, but it would’ve kept the village kept for a week.”

  “Mm." They nod. "I have heard that whale meat was a delicacy.”

  “We don’t hunt them, if that’s what you’re thinking. Bad luck. Too much meat. Pulls in all sorts of… well.”

  “I see.” Sounds reasonable enough, The Knight nods to themself once more, though many whalers would likely disagree with such a stance. “I believe I have a better… picture of the situation.”

  “…Sure you do.” So the man says. Were he in better shape, he would've rolled his eyes at the statement entirely, but alas, even something so simple seemed beyond him.

  “So, where is it then?"

  "Where's what?"

  "Ballena. The whale. Surely, you would have bones left?"

  "Ah, couldn't even get a few good cuts in."

  "Quid?"

  "The meat was tough. Took us a whole night just to tear out a half-rotten chunk." The man sighs once again, pensive as he hunched forward from his seat and rested his elbows against his knees. "Haven't even had breakfast before... that thing, came along."

  "The Raven? Quid fecit?"

  “…It took it.”

  “…What took it?”

  “The bird.”

  “The whole whale?”

  At that, the man could only nod.

  “…Deo volente…” The Knight staggers backwards, letting out breath that reeked of as much exasperation as it did dismay. They caught themselves, however, leaning much of their weight against their Cross as a makeshift staff. A moment passes, then another, before they could gather whatever wit they had left right before it slithered away. “…It could not have flown far.”

  “That, it didn’t.”

  The man then points to… the east, just left of the sea to the south. Right before the Great Divide, at the feet of that great pale wall of towering stone, where the smoldering lights of false dawn could not quite reach, where an old crumbling cliff faced the sea.

  There was an old lighthouse in the distance, rotten and crooked. Like a tree, struck by lightning and singed from its insides. It was a tall, misshapen shadow of a tower, from which a baleful, pale blue eye seemed to glow at its peak. It stares back at them in with an uncanny stillness, and it would’ve been easy to mistake some form of intent.

  “It lives there, I think.” The man quietly says. “We’ve seen it a few times before. It flew around rather often, snatching this and that. Deer, cows, sheep, hell, even bears too, now that I think of it. Maybe it even fished," He chuckles, bitterly.

  “…Do birds even eat that much?”

  “Well, it’s a very big bird.”

  “…But a whale?”

  “…It might be feeding something.” The man admits with a rather harsh scoff. “Hell of a family man, if that’s the case.”

  “Aha…” The Knight laughs, the sound feeling strained and awkward as it left exited their throat and echoed hollowly within the confines of their helm.

  The pair grow into an uneasy silence as they continued to stare out into the pale light to the distant east. There was a gaze, they couldn’t help but think. Something cold, and heavy, and wanting. Their ears seemed to ring, drowning out the faint hissing of the waves as it foamed and touched the tip of the fisherman’s feet. And then the light dimmed, and their nerves seemed to settle somewhat. As though something had looked away.

  “…Is it always like that?” The Knight asks, knuckles creaking as they tightened their grip around their Cross, limbs tensing as they could practically smell something strange afoot.

  "I... I don't think so, no." The fisherman answers hesitantly. "I don't think I've ever seen it lit up like that."

  "How long, exacte, have you been living here?"

  "...About sixteen by now, if I remember correctly." Lif was only twelve. Born just four years after he had met Ines. Has it really been that long?

  Silence, once again comes creeping into the conversation. Its presence loomed over the two, as though some stranger had just marched into the room with a meal in hand and sat themselves down on the proverbial dinner table, chewing loudly with each bite, and pointedly staring them in the eye as it did so. A quiet sigh echoes from within the Knight's helm. It was not the sort of conversational lull that one should sit down and endure.

  “…I know I should not hold this against you in your time of grief, but you are making it very hard, friend.” Tact, however, was not one amongst their many specialties.

  “Eh.” The man shrugs. “Never really paid much attention. The neighbors never really talked about that place."

  “Does that not sound odd to you?”

  “Mm.” He nods. “But I’ve been around to here and there, so I know a thing or two about fitting in. If people aren’t talking about something; don’t. It’s just not worth the effort.”

  “…Ah.” The head in the sand approach, I see. “A true Iberus you are, if I do say so myself!”

  “Hah.” The man scoffs, a slight chuckle rumbling in his throat. “That I am, that I am. The only thing I’m missing is better Iberian.”

  “Vana, you are not missing much, amicus!” The Knight says with a dismissive scoff. “Iberi is not good for speaking! Too many forms! Too many rules! Why, Frater Maxim used to beat me senseless for making the slightest of mistakes or speaking out in provincial tongues!”

  “…Sounds rough.”

  “It is!" They barked out, their voice roughening somewhat as a tinge of irritation found its way seeping into their voice. "Immesericors! Ille nefarius est!”

  “You speak it just fine though.” Not that he knew.

  “…I had no choice in the matter.” It almost seemed like they were pouting.

  A small smile finds its way back to the corners of the fisherman's lips. Not exactly out of mirth, but the amusement did dispel the gloom that hung over his head, however slight the change might've been.

  Still—he could smell a tangent and a rant from a mile away, having acquired much experience in the countless nights he had spent drinking in the company of others. The most notable amongst them were his neighbor, who could not bear to let the chances for a 'witty' remark pass him by, and the man's father-in-law, who had just passed away the year prior. The old man had no shortage of complaints about life in the countryside, but the fisherman thought that it was just the old man just trusted him enough to air such grievances. And perhaps in a way, they had become something akin to family, even for just a short while.

  "…So, you’re from a province?" The fisherman then asked. The nostalgia must be getting to him.

  “Hm? Ati, back when I was still a child.”

  “Huh." He blinks, a little wide-eyed. "Thought you were highborn.”

  “Nugae.” They shake their head, their helm rattling slightly along with the motion. “I was a peasant girl, born to a family of farmers. With many brothers, might I add. Twelve of them, in fact, and I was the youngest—” They—she(?) went on just a bit more a bit more while the fisherman turns his head to face her(?).

  “Come again?”

  “…and one day, a cohors wandered into town in search of Nata Morti—Hm? Quid?” The Knight pauses, right in the middle of a long winded story that the fisherman had just so happened to miss much of. “Is something the matter?”

  “…You were a woman?” Their voice might've been a little high, but it wasn't that high. Even now, it had a boyish roughness and cadence that... well, they did say they had a lot of brothers, now that he thinks of it.

  “Were? I am a woman…?” She trails off, just about as shocked with the man’s reaction. “Was it not obvious?”

  “I can’t exactly…see your…” He raised his arms, and they uneasily hover in the air right by his shoulders as he attempted to fight the urge to gesticulate. Ines would’ve slapped him if he said it out loud. His neighbor, however, would’ve cheered him on, only to be slapped his own wife. Probably beaten a bit more, but that was then and there.

  “My face?”

  “…Aye. Sure. That.” Three cheers for naivete, he supposed.

  “I am afraid I cannot show." She(?) says firmly "‘Tis improper.”

  “I… didn’t ask.” Not that he wasn’t curious.

  “Oh…” She seems to deflate at that, feeling somewhat slighted by the apparent disinterest. “But would you like to see?”

  “…Maybe…?” He tarries, just a little bit wary. “If you insist…?”

  “…Then, I shall not.” Needless to say, the man’s coyness was not appreciated, and was thusly, only answered in kind. “But I will have you know that I am a lovely young woman of mentionable repute.”

  “…Sure you are.” He nods along. He very much doubted a lovely young woman would call themselves lovely, but at the same time, she was not entirely unpleasant.

  The conversation seemed to die off after that. Rather hard to make up for that blunder, but then again, he was a married man. It was in poor taste, to be off getting along with some other woman so quickly after… Well, Ines was still here. And so was Lif. And so was everything else.

  The tides fill the silence, its foamy, icy grasp lapping away at the fisherman’s heel. He hears the creaking of wood, causing his eyes to flit away from the Knight and back to the skiff, which stirs lightly in part with the swelling tide. It slides forwards as the tide recedes, and the man immediately bolts forward to claw the loose length of rope just slithering along the damp sands. Thankfully, the skiff had barely moved more than a steps before it came to a stop before he could even pull. He sighs, relieved, and it was only then that he turned his attention to the other… occupied skiff, just behind the one that belonged to his family. Thankfully, they have not budged an inch, still lodged firmly into the sands.

  “…Are we seeing them off tonight?” The Knight asks, having stepped up just a bit to help with securing the boat. Her boots splash against into the shallow waters, and the freezing liquid quickly floods and drenches the insides of her footwear. The sensation was sudden and harsh enough, that she had to actively suppress a shudder, which she forcefully pushes back as she then focused much of her attention to the matter at hand.

  “…No, ‘course not.” The man says with a grunt and a sigh as the armored woman hooked the arm of her cross into the skiff’s side to hold in it place. The pair pause, wordless but somehow in sync as they then dragged the boat backwards further up the shore. “…It’s… dark, and it’s cold out there. I wouldn’t want them to get lost.”

  “…It is not safe to keep them here, amicus.” Slowly, they meet more and more resistance as they inch away from the waters.

  “I know, I know.” The man nods, a grim look settling upon his brow as they came to a stop. “…I just… I need a little more time.”