I call the sea by its name. The name it taught to me long ago. A name constructed from no words. It is the name I came to know running along its touch. A name born upon the smells and life of those distant shores. Storms its accent, sunrises its silence. I felt the name as the waves crushed down upon my back, and as the sand dissipated beneath my feet. It is the burn in my lungs, the harsh sun upon my skin. Its instant and eternal name I cry. Voiceless.

Broken and dying upon that black mountain it is the name of the sea that makes up my final thought. Not my quest, now failing alongside my dimming life. Nor she held captive in the traitor's camp below, awaiting my rescuing return. It is not of the free people I now doom to slavery. It is the sea. My mother in nurture. My father in discipline. The great and mighty sea, which in this realm seems remote and impotent.

My eyes failing, I take in the sealess waste about me, I take in my final sight. Black and barren. Muddy clouds hamper far sight from this rising peak. This is my wretched grave. My own life's blood the only water to wash this forsaken land. My eyes take their final rest. I begin to hear the waves in answer to my call. The gentle sound of a sunset's tide. In then out. And in. Then out.

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