Dawn broke slowly that morning after the storm, the reaching tendrils of gray light almost tentative as they tried to penetrate the dense cover of fast moving clouds that coated the sky. The cliffs were still slick and wet from the heavy rains that had fallen and on the rocky beaches all manner of trash had piled up, hurled ashore by the fury of ocean and sky and left to dry in the strong wind that still blew hard from the southeast. It chased waves in towards land, waves as tall as a standing bear, and taller still, hurtling in to smash against the rock-face with a force that caused the very ground to tremble and added new material to the rough gravel that coated the shore wherever the cliffs receded.
Slowly, almost imperceptibly as light spread and darkness receded, the ferocity of the surge diminished. The tide was turning, soon it would have receded far enough that otherwise submerged rocks and crannies were thrust up out of the sea and thus exposed all manner of strange and uncanny creatures in the shallow tide-pools. As the steely color of the clouds to the east continued to brighten, animals stirred. The cliffs that had once seemed so barren now teemed with life as gulls fought over rotten fish and crabs with menacing claws battled for their lives against a curious red fox that had left the fields to partake in the feast nature had provided.
The crab won; discouraged the fox moved off and followed the steep shore in search of a breakfast that was both more filling and less demanding. On the rocks above a sheltered cove it stopped and peered down at a pile of assorted rubble below, a sand-covered mound of broken wood, kelp and stinking refuse. The canine's keen yellow eyes searched for signs of danger for a time; then it began to work its way down to the water-line.
Halfway there, a sound caused the fox to flinch and stop in mid stride, tension rippling through its supple body as it listened intently. There it was again; a sound that did not belong on this solitary stretch of rock overlooking the sea. It was not the chattering sound of barking sea-otters or the dull smack of fighting seals, nor was it caused by any bird or beast of the sea-shore. Again it was heard, this time followed by motion as the pile of rubble suddenly heaved and moved. And now the fox saw that it was not a pile at all, but a horse; big and sand colored with sea-weed and kelp tangled all through the dark hair and long legs until hardly any of the body remained visible while it lay still. But it was moving now, kicking feebly with dangerously hard hooves and letting out that weary, hollow noise again, a groan torn from a throat that must be all but shredded by salt and fear during the struggles of the night.
Realizing that there would be no easy breakfast to be had from the unconscious beast, the fox turned and left, loping easily back up the same way it had come. Only once did it pause to look back upon that tangled, flailing heap, and saw that it had gone still and quiet again; another salt-crusted victim of the ocean's reckless temper, no doubt, but too large for the fox to eat. It moved on, not caring that the sand-colored equine was slipping back down into deep, dark unconsciousness, a dangerous sleep from which it might never wake; not if it didn't move before the tide came back in to reclaim its slippery, water-logged domain.
Time was running out, but Finnian knew nothing about that where he lay, with blood from a re-opened wound above the eye trickling steadily down over his face. He could die there, and he'd be none the wiser about it, would never know as he slipped from one oblivion to the next.
It was not the kind of fate he would have envisioned for himself.
In every tyrant a tear for the vulnerable
In every lost soul the bones of a miracle
In every lost soul the bones of a miracle
