Sea, treacherous Sea, green of seaweed and envy, black-depths of void, furious waves eating the shore away, I am leaving you, never to return!
I won't swear and curse to you but my kind has one word to give and you now have mine. I don't have need of you. My flesh you won't carry and I will reach the shore of my forefathers in the bloody way of many of my kindred before me, fighting a batte that worths fighting. That or I shall fade into the trees and the rocks and the mountains that remain. Neither of your shores has any mirage to call to me with, so I don't really care. So many times I looked at your torment already, from the cliffs above, when the night was dark and the wind cold, that you have no power over me anymore. I hear no song in your wailing. You reach up with your foamy phantasmagoric arms, like a child begging for a gift or embrace. You won't have it. You are neither my road or my grave.
I thought also, so often, to give you my ring, as you won it after all in a way, with your call that kept him away. You would rot it black and weak with your salt and with your waves until it would shatter into nothingness, if given enough time, like disease rots the flesh of mortals. And time you have, my stormy rival, for you are also eternal like the evil and sorrow. I thought it too deserved a punishment, for failing me, for failing to remind and to keep, a slow destruction rather then the cleansing kiss of the forge-fire. But you won't have my ring, it does not deserve such. It was forged to give joy and it did, it had no voice to sing and no thorns to bleed flesh with. It was an witness and it grew wise with this journey. And so did I. There's wisdom in the old custom and its silver will make a beautiful leaf on the pommel of a faithful sword or a beautiful flower on the wine cup that brings silence and bliss to tired and laugher and friendship to the joyous. It will find purpose again and so will I.
I am now ready to return home..
