Harmindon's Finest

Chapter 31 - The Fisherman's Inn

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The sea - it changes you. It heightens your senses, helps you to breathe more clearly, see more sharply, hear the distant cries of the gulls over the crashing of the waves.

Even from Pelargir, Miarka and I could tell we were near the sea, if the huge sailing boats and fishing trawlers on the Anduin weren't already a clue. I marvelled at those ships - the amount of material used in those sails was tremendous. I'd thought the sheet of purple silk I'd used  sewing the awning over my old stall in Harmindon huge, but these sails were made of a thick canvas stretching for seemingly hundreds of yards into the sky. I would have loved to see the size of the needle that could oenetrate such thick canvas.

We didn't linger long in Pelargir, and rode along the bank of the Anduin as planned, until we reached the sea. There was a wide road, made of dry, pressed earth, that we chased each other on - my equestrian skills were becoming more pronounced as the days went on.

The wind picked up, coming from what seemed like every direction at once. Miarka's hair - so carefully arranged - went tumbling down her shoulders, and tossed about her head with every changing wind so that she could barely see through a mass of tangles most of the time. I laughed at her riding one-handed, clawing her hair out of her face. I had the good sense to tie a shawl around mine, so tightly that not a strand escaped.

I licked my lips, dry from the wind - and tasted salt.

I looked to the horizon - and saw that it wasn't there.

Miarka came cantering up behind me, trying in vain to twist her hair into a knot - and stopped beside me.

"I can't see the other side!" She shrieked over the wind, astonished.

I'd closed my eyes, taking deep breaths of the chilly, salty sea air - but at Miarka's call I opened them again.

The sea was so utterly immense it was unbelievable. We were halted at the top of a small cliff, and the road went on to the right, downhill to a tiny fishing village where the river met the sea, but to our left was a tiny, sandy path, winding its way down straight to the water's edge. All around us was a strange, knee-high grass, swishing and rippling in the wind, and strange birds - gulls - flew above our heads, screaming to one another or fishing over a bit of fish.

The actual water was so mesmerising that Miarka and I stared at it for so long our horses began to get impatient. It was a deep grey - reflecting the dirty-whiteness of the clouds - fading to blue in the distance where it mingled with the horizon, a neverending expanse of water - Miarka was right, there was no other side in sight. It swelled and heaved and fell again, tips of white foam appearing here and there where a wave broke. Some miles of cliff away, where it turned properly steep and jagged, the waves would crash up against the cliff and send a column of spray up higher than the cliff.

Miarka stood up in her stirrups.

"This is amazing!" She yelled over the wind, throwing out her arms.

I hesitated - and had to join in, after a moment. I couldn't just sit there and agree with quiet pleasure. Something infectious about this sheer immense, almost alive, body of water made you want to stand up and scream.

After a while, the horses began to get impatient again and Miarka and I began to freeze. The wind was chilly and some of the adrenaline had worn off, so we dismounted and made our way to the little fishing village in the relatively sheltered bay of the Anduin estuary.

"What - what do we do now?" Miarka asked, teeth chattering.

"Look - there's an inn. We can get warmed up there."