Narron shuffled through the hot sand towards the elders' hut. In the front was a young woman, pacing nervously in front. She blushed when she saw Narron, said something quietly to herself, and ran away. Narron felt his soul become burdened with stones. This was not going to be a happy meeting.
He brushed aside the hut's flap, his nose instantly hit with the sharp smell of burning wood. A low fire was being attended by one of the elders. The others sat with concerned faces as they acknowledged Narron. An old women with wispy, white wings gestured for the fisherman to sit.
"Good morning," Narron said, meekly.
Some returned the greeting. An old, bald man huffed.
"We know about the sword," he said. "Narron, you know better!"
The other elders beckoned him to be still.
"Let the boy explain himself!" the woman with the white wings demanded.
Narron smiled weakly, making it a note to catch her an extra large tuna. With the elders' permission, he told the story of how he met Ahra.
"The sword seemed important to him," Narron said lamely. "I didn't want anyone else to find or misuse it."
"It was a very stupid thing to do," the bald man said, his words like daggers.
The elders broke off to mutters and whispers. One old man with a shawl on his shoulders spoke in avery loud voice to be heard over the den. His hair was long and grey, braided neatly down his back.
All went still.
The man turned to Narron.
"Give the sword to us before nightfall," he demanded. "As long as Ahra walks among us, it will remain safely in our possession. If not, we will have to punish you both."
Narron nodded at the wiseman's decision. In his heart, he knew Ahra would not like this decision, but if that was what the elders have decided it was for the best. They knew better than the stranger. It was their way, after all.
"I will," he agreed.
He mulled over this decision as he walked down the coast. He'd might as well retrieve it now, before he forgot. He stretched out his wings and took off, embracing the ocean's breeze. Looking down from up high, he noticed a small speck in the distance. He flew towards it, and towards Ahra, to investigate. The shape turned out to be a ship, with men jumping off and pulling out shackles and iron bars.
Strange, Narron thought. They didn't sail to the port.
He wondered if they were simply lost or misguided. That happened with ships sometimes. Narron swooped down until he hovered over the mast.
"Ahoy!" he said in Common tongue, waving towards the best dressed man among them. That had to be the captain.
