Above the ragged reefs it glided, a ship of expertise! And upon it's prow there she stood, exquisite and serene. Through shafts of slanting sunlight, directed by the mast, her hair appeared like fire, flowing swift and fast. She stood there tall, bathed in pride, not worried about the fall, for on her head she wore a pirate's crown; a captain's worn old hat. She breathed deep in her simple serenity, and ignored her crews folly and fits as they sailed towards the sea. For though she was content with the orange jewels of sunlight pirouetting across the tide, her men all knew as well as she that they'd made a huge mistake. But she couldn't tarry on an expression that would make her spirits glum, so she smiled in all her beauty, a raindrop amid the sun.
Will could still taste the salty sea air when he jumped out of his sleep. His dream had been so vivid, so immensely real that he had strayed so hopelessly from reality till it had seemed likely that he'd never return. For in his reverie, Will had felt strangely unsettled, but to his surprise these feelings hadn't been aroused by the fact that he'd been on a pirate's ship surrounded by filthy scoundrels (to tell the truth he'd felt as if he'd known these men for years). Throughout his lively vision Will had the sinking memories of a failure—a mistake. But he hadn't thought on his anxiety long as that's when he'd spotted her, the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen in his life, bravely standing atop the narrow prow of the ship, her arms spread wide as she excepted every twisting and twining move the soft breeze proposed.
Beneath a sweeping canopy of undulating hue, from wells of limpid colors, all strummed across the sky, the woman had stood there daringly, a glimmer in her eye. But as Will had stared increasingly he'd noticed with surprise that this was no valiant woman, but a bold young girl—merely eighteen or even seventeen at the most. Will had stared in wonder; she looked so much more matured than that but by her round, smiling face and big youthful eyes it was obvious she wasn't yet an adult. And though Will knew he couldn't know her he had the odd sense that there was something rather familiar in her big, midnight blue eyes.
Will climbed out of bed and peered over the ledge of the loft he slept in. The blacksmith was still out drinking this Thursday night away at the little pub in the center of the port. But Will wasn't surprised; the blacksmith, a conniving old chap who supported a large beer-belly and a balding head, was the unexpected savior of Will's young life. If it weren't for the blacksmith Will would still be trapped living a jobless, spiritless life in the manor of his God Parents. But lo and behold, at the age of seventeen Will encountered the blacksmith who was willing to allow him to stay in the loft of his blacksmith shop in return of the hard work Will was easily capable of. Sure, sleeping in an old loft above a dank room full of tools, anvils, and large, fiery wood stoves wasn't nearly as comfortable as sleeping in his large bed of plentiful décor back at his parents manor, but Will managed. Plus the fact that he rarely had company made his loft a bit more likeable.
But at the moment Will was far too aroused by his dream to tarry on thoughts such as these and, feeling up to a bit of fresh air, he descended down the latter.
The blacksmith's shop was small and cold, kept together by nothing but the frail and aged walls that surrounded it. The floor was merely an earthy pit: a pool of fallen ashes and soot, pieces of discarded iron and wood, and a base of dust and dirt. Will skidded over this dry land in a tired gaze; it was still much too early to arise but Will knew that even if he tried he wouldn't be able to fall asleep again.
He drifted lazily over to the large door, standing crooked on it's hinges, and pulled it wide to the welcoming of a pleasant breeze. The sky was black with a sea of fading stars as a tinge of sunlight faintly began to sweep over them. The air was brisk and salty just as it always was so close to the ocean, and an early morning mist still lingered about the ground. Far off in the distance, behind the town of shops and little houses, the ocean was just visible, just as black and as swarthy as the sky. Frothy waves lush with foam rolled across the shadowed surface and melted gently away at the shore before rearing back to the ocean's depths.
To Will this scene was the most peaceful he'd seen in years, much more reassuring then his dream had been, and something of a relief. It kept Will content, as if he'd been half expecting to see a ship gliding across the black waters, a glorious figure at it's mast.
He would have liked to just stand there, staring out with a light-headed expression etched across his face, forever. But the tired muscles in his legs disagreed and soon they were pulling Will away from his perch at the door as he bustled off to open all the shop windows, preparing for the coming day. As the Blacksmith's apprentice, Will had a number of things he had to do each morning while the blacksmith was away: tend the fires, forge, and billows, grease the anvils, feed the blacksmith's ancient mule, Abbey, check the villager's orders, and start working. The blacksmith didn't usually come staggering in until the late afternoon, and even then he was almost always too intoxicated to tell the difference between a hammer and a fallen twig.
But Will didn't mind. Over the years he'd come to find crafting swords and tools to be one of his passions, it kept his mind at ease and he was always flattered to hear his work was appreciated, even if the gratitude was directed more to the blacksmith than to him. He supposed, in time, he might own a blacksmith's shop himself and become known as the best blacksmith in all of the Caribbean.
But for now, all he could do was dream of this illusion as he greased an anvil with a grimy rag.
"Oi! Young William?"
Will was startled from his work by a familiar voice coming from the doorway.
It was half past two and shafts of sunlight from interstices in the old roof danced playfully across the steel Will had been shaping into a blade. At the moment, Will set his work aside, and hurried to calm a fretful Abbey, who'd been startled from her sleep, and moved forth to answer his newfound company.
"Old Frederick Cotting," Will said, bemused and grinning as he stopped before a greasy old man, leaning over the doorframe expectantly.
"Good day to you too William," Frederick Cotting, a man who looked his age in an ancient, tattered cloak and hat, said in his growl of a voice. "I was just comin' round to see if the old Barty is about?" he asked, referring to the blacksmith.
"No," Will replied. "I doubt he'll be coming round till after five. You know the man, his nights don't end till the next begins."
"Ah, I envy the old Barty for that," Frederick Cotting chuckled. His weathered laugh may have sounded more like a hoarse cough but it was easy to see that the man had good intentions all the same, and Will couldn't help grinning as well. "So William," Frederick said, raising his eyebrow curiously at the boy. "How's life been keeping you these days? 'Ave you found yourself a pretty young lass yet?"
Will shook his head bashfully. It wasn't that he didn't adore women, he'd just come to the point where he questioned himself about what kind of girl would want to marry a filthy blacksmith's apprentice. And lately, he'd even given up on looking for a good wife. He supposed it was pointless anyway.
"Well you've got plenty of time, but if I were you I'd get a move on lad," Frederick said, eyeing Will speciously. "They don't stay beautiful and happy forever." He wheezed off into a fit of cracked laughter, not shared by Will who supposed the man was a bit mad or drunk.
"Yes Mr. Cotting, I'll remember that," Will said, patting the old man on the back before turning around to get back to his work. "Good day Mr. Cotting."
As Will walked back to his work bench to find that the steel he'd been working with was beginning to melt from the heat of the wood stove he'd accidentally left it by, he could tell it was going to be a long afternoon.