Making Waves
Iarion stood on the pier as he had every morning for the past few weeks, his face turned toward the rolling waves of the ocean. A salt-scented breeze caught at his long, silver braids, setting them dancing around his shoulders. The breeze carried a dampness with it that misted his dusky skin. He ignored all this to strain his eyes toward the north-eastern horizon—the direction of Rasdaria.
He wasn’t alone, of course. Just like every other morning since the beginning of his vigil, it seemed that every elf living in the Forest of the Sea had turned up to crowd around him, each jockeying for their own position until the tension was palpable. A few spoke to one another in Elvish in hushed voices. The only other sound was the pounding of the surf against the beach. The Sea Elves’
