There are those who run when towards the shore and those who run away from the shore. It doesn’t matter the day or the time or the height of the surf. There are those who run to and those who run from.

Silas looked at the rocks that had stood since before the kingdom, before the country, before anything had been touched by humans on this shore. They had grown smaller, harsher with the pounding of the waves, as had the humans that now covered his land. Silas felt a kinship with the rocks, but not the humans. They had a choice. The rocks did not.

He whipped around as a branch snapped behind him. His eyes narrowed, but the tension flowed out of his stance like the water sliding off the sand back to the sea.

“Silas.” The other tsked. “You shouldn’t be out here by yourself. You know how you get. Your moods are changing the seas.”

“Sorry.” He straightened up and they walked back inland, their backs to the sea.

“What will you do?”

“Decide,” Silas said as the clouds rolled in off the sea, blanketing the sky with grey. Before the rocks fell down, he would have to decide what to do.