Scene: Druidess sitting on a beach, at the edge of the water, quarterstaff planted in the sand, staring at the sea, her hands playing with a pristine seashell.


Head: Why are you sitting here? Go do something. You know He would want you to do something.

Heart: I miss Him so.

Head: Miss Him? You are looking at Him. He is right before your eyes. Do you not see Him in the blue horizon, the cerulean currents, the never-ending tides?

Heart: I do, but...

Head: Do you not hear Him, as the waves crest and crash, as the ocean roars, as the whales sing, or even inside that shell that you hold?

Heart: I do, but...

Head: Do you not sense Him, your feet in the shallows, the salt drying on your skin, the whiffs of kelp and brine tickling your nose?

Heart: I do, I do, I do. You know I do. It is not the same. It is not enough. It simply makes me miss Him more.


Druidess touches her left wrist briefly, stands up, pulls the quarterstaff from the sand. She whispers a prayer to the Sea, exits the scene.

Penned by my hand on the 25th of Aeguary, in the year 991 AF.