Elsewhere…

Horizon to horizon lie fields of packed grey ash, still falling in a haze that obscures the scale of the surroundings. In the distance immense roots rise up as mountain ranges to split the land into great cantons. Between, tilling these would-be fields, hunched and masked figures stride purposeful yet arcane paths. Their footfalls crater the soft ground, tracks of boot and toe and hoof to be quickly erased in the constant deluge from above.

Two men walk across this scene. They have walked far now; farther indeed than any others and yet their destination still eludes. Somewhere ahead the sound of waves crashing pierces the mute air. The men do not speak. They have not spoken in years; there has been no need. “The dead of the sea do not make it to land” were the last words spoken to the men, and directed their course hence. Some of the toll of their journey wears heavy upon them, though much of it does not. Hale still, none can guess at their ages.

All at once, every trawling figure in the vicinity halts and straightens, looking towards one of the men. He in turn looks up, then at his companion. His hands shake. “Perhaps some hurry was warranted after all” he says weakly, though a sardonic smile still reaches his lips. “It was folly anyway, grim and endless as we have found this place” comes in reply. The two hold each other’s gaze for some time. Soon enough, one collapses and the other turns away. Into the absence where once stood camaraderie descend the masked figures and a long delayed interment begins. The other man does not turn back, though he considers it. He shields his eyes from the ash and sends a searching gaze upward. There is nothing to see. There is nothing else to do. He continues on towards the ocean he can only hear.