Rodanthe

The cold winter wind pushed through her hair as Rodanthe rode through the dark night. Her black horse against the black night gave the illusion that it was just her - floating five feet off the ground at full speed through the blackness. The dark wasn’t a problem though, she knew the route and so did the horse she rode, the charcoal colored andalusian she had been travelling with for years - lovingly referred to as Pan. The two had gone enormous distances in every direction, but every trip ended back here - down the dark unlit road to the inlet cliffs. She slowed Pan as the ground cover went from dirt to rock. Throwing her leg over the side she climbed down and tied his bridle to the last tree before the clearing, and stepping carefully she started down from the clifftop down the rock and sand slope to a lower, flatter area. The inlet was a refuge from the roughest parts of the sea, here the waves were calmer and there were footholds where the land and sea merged with a gentler touch.

She tucked her hand under links of chain covering her chest to a small pocket sewn into the under layers, pulling out a small treasure. The delicate chain between her fingers led down to a small ornate silver cage holding a pearl. The pearl was milky and iridescent, not perfectly round but gave the illusion of a slight glow in the moonlight. She held it at eye level for a few moments before outstretching her arm over the cliff’s edge and letting it fall silently into the rolling water.

Then she sat - It would take a few minutes. She unhoused the thin bronze sword from her hip and placed it at her side, folding her legs underneath her as she looked out at the moon’s reflection on the dark water of the inlet. The soft sound of the waves emphasized the winter night’s lack of wind, though a still, yet penetrating cold numbed the skin of her face. What was only minutes felt like hours when the water of the inlet started to slow its movement until it reached a dead calm. A faint glow under the surface illuminated a face slowly popping up from the waves.

“Good morning,” a small voice said, despite it being the dead of night. Rodanthe smiled and outstretched her hand.