Antares

Down at the docks, amongst the ever-changing collection of traders and visitors and adventurers in their yachts and barges and sloops, nestles a tattered black tallship with a red star flag. She found this place by chance, pulled in to rest and never moved on, abandoned her scheduled trip. She's been here a while now, feeding the birds, living off the beer and grain in the hull that never made it to it's buyer. Gypsy caravans pull into town and camp on the beach under the full moons. She brings down a keg and she and other Lerilanders come to dance and drum and flute with them by the bonfires. She whistles ancient tunes from the sunken island of her anscestors, sips tea in the cafe, and sometimes, when the stars and planets and the weather are just right and strength flows in her veins, her third eye opens to another's and they pass between them heartsongs and desires and dreams and love.

Continue onward... Babel

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