Feather on the Wind – Part 9: Birth of a Sails-man
Cutch entered Ardanion’s room holding a lit candle against the predawn darkness. He moved quietly to avoid wakening Lumenire and Teahesto, who were still slumbering in their bedchambers. Ardanion was still deeply asleep, a soft snore drifting out from a nose most assuredly inherited from Cutch. Father watched son contentedly for a few moments, making a fond memory. Grabbing a lump in the covers formed around a foot, Cutch gently shook his son awake. The boy stretched and drew in a deep breath, bringing with it his first glimpse of the new day. His eyes wandered about the dark room until they finally focused on his father’s candlelit face happily muttering. “Time to get up, Danny. We must beat the rising sun if we want to get everything done.”
Another full body stretch, a yawn ending in a groan, and a baleful look answered Cutch. “It’s still night Ada! That’s when we sleep!” The boy’s voice bounced off the walls and into the hall. Cutch winced, pressing a finger against his puckered lips. “We don’t need to wake the others. Come on, I’ve got everything ready. We just need to get to the boat. Breakfast is there, your favorite.”
The boy rubbed his eyes and sat up, pushing the covers aside. “Bacon sandwiches?”
Cutch nodded. “With cheese”. The boy hopped up and quickly dressed for their planned fishing day.
Quietly, the two left the mansion padding on their toes, softly closing the front door. Cutch did not presume that the Elves didn’t hear them, but he hoped that the attempt to leave quietly would at least signal they did not also need to rise.
Dawn over the eastern sea began with a reddish glow on the far horizon drifting up, leading a faint blue into the sky. Another lovely coastal day began. On the far eastern horizon, billowy clouds were alit with a sun not yet risen on the island; they seemed to sail on the edge of the ocean. The paved path from the mansion down to the docks was dry under a gentle cool wind that rustled the tall grasses at the path’s edge.
The sea was still a drowsy grey, but wind born wavelets lapping at the dock signaled a new day coming, seconded by the slow spread of dawn light. Ardanion noted the dying embers in a small firepit on the rocky shore near the dock. Smoke drifted up and around a covered pan and a coffee pot being kept warm and as the two approached to sit, the boy drew in a deep breath of one of his favorite aromas.
“Bacon! Seems you’ve been planning this for a while, Ada. Did you sleep at all last night?”
Cutch chuckled and vaguely nodded as he reached for a leather sack near the firepit. “Aye, Danny, I’ve been thinking about this day since before we began our little excursion.” The father drew out thin metal plates, cups, forks, and a small, sealed crock, all of which the son recognized from the camping stores in the Enclave’s craft house. Ardanion sat back and respectfully watched Cutch do what he cherished doing the most; feeding those he loved.
From the uncovered pan came toasted sandwiches of thick bacon and a local sharp cheese, and from the opened crock, preserved peach slices. Coffee soon steamed from their cups. As Cutch was serving them breakfast, he glanced out at the dawn-graced sea. “Perfect day for your first sailing lesson”, he muttered, nodding to a lateen rigged sailboat hitched to dock.
“Really?”, Ardanion asked, the word muffled through a mouthful of morning goodness. His eyes widened and fixed on his father, and his chewing quickened.
“As soon as breakfast is done … and you’ve packed it up”, Cutch calmly answered. The father took his coffee cup to the boat, sipping as he inspected the small craft and regarded the morning wind. Ardanion wolfed down the rest of his breakfast as only an adolescent could, then cleaned and stored all the dishes back into the leather pack. After dousing the last of the embers, the boy hoisted the pack over one shoulder and strode to the boat, the wordless question “What now?” spread across his grinning face.
Cutch led the boy aboard, pointed where to stow the pack, then showed him the various things a sailor must check on his boat before heading out. Ardanion listened intently, undaunted by the number of items, and as his father revealed them, the boy’s face showed surprise and growing admiration. “You know a lot about sailing, Ada.”
The father smiled at his son, saying, “Oh, this is just getting ready to sail!”
They cast off, pushing away from the dock, and set the oars to row out a bit. Ardanion seemed to know how to handle his oar without being told much, and when they were a dozen yards out, Cutch began to teach Ardanion how to hoist and lash the yard to the mast.
“Now … we make you a sailor, son!”. They unfurled the sail, set the lines, and under a steady but gentle wind, moved out into deeper water. It surprised Cutch how quickly Ardanion learned the techniques for tacking and jibing, and before long the boy shared the tiller, a broad grin on his face. Once Cutch was confident that the boy had the sense of it, he said, pointing towards the mainland, “Set course for the ferry docks at Cathlond, matey”.
“Aye captain!” the boy exclaimed, and they both laughed, joined in a beautiful day on the water, the bond between father and son having found yet another way to deepen.
