Irab

The night sky was pitch black. The moon looked white, a bright beacon high above in contrast. Far below, the sea breathed and snarled. The swell both a lull into complacence and a defiant beast; a legendary killer of men.

The bonfire's music drowned out all the rest. The fire was built like a tower. Upon the ruin by the sea they had come to, it was like a tower upon a tower. The fire had none of the sky's vastness, none of the sea's indecision. It did not have the woe of the stark, solitary moon.