My Caladanian Rain [A Paul Atreides Story]

98 BG

I remember salt smoke from a beach fire

And shadows under the pines-

Solid, clean . . . fixed-

Seagulls perched at the tip of land,

White upon green . . .

And a wind comes through the pines

To sway the shadows;

The seagulls spread their wings,

Lift

And fill the sky with screeches.

And I hear the wind

Blowing across our beach,

And the surf,

And I see that out fire

Has scorched the seaweed.

Poem for Sad Times by Gurney Halleck

"Paul, don't—you'll fall over the water!"

Paul Atreides continually stirred a twig in the water, the hallow pith drenched and turning into what seemed like carob brown. He found the twig just a few feet away from Castle Caladan's oldest tree. "Believe me, gentle Princess, I won't." He took his time and turned his head toward the young lady standing behind him with her hand planted on her hip. She had a petulant expression, revealing a pout, her eyebrows paired up and curled.

"And either way, will it matter not? You trained to swim." She sharply faces away from him.

"Aren't you a spoiled little Princess," Paul sighed and gave off a small smile her way as she stared by his far right, where the river bled out. She exhales deeply as if to show she's been defeated. "Rightfully so, as you are a Corrino."

"And what must that imply? That every Corrino princess is some sort of juvenile delinquent?" She retorts a little harshly.

"Shall I say, to some degree," He manages to keep his grin.

"Dare you, Paul Atreides!" She screams at him. Now she faced him. Glaring, brows getting closely knitted than ever before.

"Don't act as if there is no truth in that, Princess Ilvermorny." Now he was teasing her. Igniting her fire, all knowing that she is easily explosive.

"This is no fun, Paul." She squats on the newly trimmed grass. Got an itch on her calf, but dared not to raise her skirt. Lady Mara, her governess, would have butchered her alive if she ever did. "I hate it, do not talk like this."

"Why?" He decides not to slip out of his earlier demeanor.

"I thought you'd be decent enough," Her voice cracked like she was about to cry.

Paul, seeing her eyes welling up, instantly jumps up. Throwing the twig over the water, it reaches about a meter or two. He then stands over Princess Ilvermorny, who refuses to look up at him.

"Mornie, I'm sorry," He squats next to her, stroking her golden-brown hair, following its waves as he runs through it with his fingers.

"I hate you!" She screams. Lifting her head, Paul saw how she was crying now. Her face was red, and her eyes were half shut.

"I was only joking. Come on now, Ghaitha,"  He did mean to tease, though he didn't intend on making her cry.

"You are so cruel and do not deserve to be in my presence. I will tell my father to prohibit you to be in a radius near me, from this day forward," He shrugs his hand off of wavy her hair. "And knock it off with that pathetic name. I am aware that I cry a lot, but that does not entitle you to name me as such."