Nicky crouched, letting sand dribble through her fist. If only the sand were falling through the hour glass instead, the time for departure drawing closer one grain at a time. The water was almost flat, small wave rolling onto the shore.
"Why can't we leave?" She asked without looking back. A sigh and a rustle of sand and clothing.
"Red sky at night, sailor's delight," Dirk answered, letting the rest of it go unsaid.
Nicky grumbled, dropped the rest of the sand and stood. "Why do they hold everything up for an old saying?" Just above the high tide mark waited her boat. Sleek, fast, ready for anything the ocean could throw at her. "Is it just suggested or official that the start is delayed?"
She walked towards her boat and Dirk cursed under his breath. "Suggested, but no one else.."

Nicky stopped paying attention to him. Dozens of craft lay along the beach, others milling around.

She was tired of waiting. Nicky dropped the first roller, tossed everything in the boat, and started pushing.


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AislingWeaver (joined about 13 years ago)
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Aisling Weaver has been plucking at the threads of dreams for decades but only recently has dared capture the senses with words. She writes from a tiny corner of the world known to few on stolen time and borrowed inspiration. By day chained to a desk when set free she delves the shadowy recesses where desire, need, lust and passion meet the spectrum of emotion.

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