The night was heavy as the fog engulfed the scenery around them, but you
could still see the stars; you could still hear the crickets chirping; you
could still smell the crisp, clean perfume of morning as it readied itself
to climb over mountains, to gleam off lakes, to eluminate the dull feilds
of grean. It was a nice change for them, they had seen the same thing for
far too long; an endless abyss of sea with it's blue waters which were now
black from the darkness. The shades would change, the winds would change,
the people would change, but time would stand still for them, and though at
times they despised the sea, they could not hate it. Their home was in the
cradling ocean, gently rocking them as if they were children of the water,
the only children of the water left. Some things are innocent beyond
reason, so beautiful in simplicity that you would never want to see them
have any contact with the world, for fear of corruption. In this world,
there was no escaping that corruption, there was no long lived innocence,
for if you didn't learn to take care of yourself, than you would not
survive. They could not accept such a world, and why should they? It was
their world now, wasn't it? They were in control, and they could make the
world what they wanted now. And so they go on, unknown to most, their
actions silent, for they are the Santiago.
