Author's note: I think I'm gonna take my time, writing this story. I'm worried about Spain acting out of character, which God knows I don't want. This story seems to be taking him in an odd direction. Perhaps once he comes across some friendlier faces, his personality will be more apparent? On a final note, please enjoy the story!
Spain stared out the window of the fine stagecoach. All that could be heard was the forlorn sound of the horses' hooves upon the cobblestone road and the rolling wheels of the carriage behind it. To the ignorant eye, there was nothing to be seen for miles; to his own green ones, it was long, but familiar path. In the distance around him, the captain could see sand, grayed by the slow transition of dawn to morning. He knew from each clump of undergrowth, from each set of rushes, that he was to arrive at his solitary destination soon.
It was perhaps three minutes before the sound of his transport was interrupted by the noise of mighty waves breaking upon the shore of the sea. Soon thereafter, the driver brought the horses to a stop and opened the door for Spain with a bow.
"Sir Antonio, we have arrived," he announced uselessly; for the captain could easily tell from the horses' halt and his own memory that they had reached their destination.
"Sí," Antonio replied curtly in the native tongue, "I can see this. Wait for me here; I may be awhile." He began to make his way over the crest of the sand hill when a protest from his underling interrupted him. "Quiet," he snapped, cutting off the young man. "You are no one to say what I may or may not do. Now as I instructed; stay here." The noble Spaniard was now hurried at a trot; anything to get a long distance between himself and that pest of a servant.
Alone at last, Spain breathed deeply once, then twice to shake off the feelings of annoyance, for his routine here was sacrosanct, and that it ought to remain. The sand was loose and slid beneath his feet, causing the man the sensation of gliding to the sea as he made his way down the hill to meet the lapping waves of low-tide. Now in a secluded area, he removed his boots to better experience his surroundings. He swore he could feel each individual grain of sand as his toes sank downward. He roamed toward the line of driftwood and set foot into the suckling wet grit. The water was softly tugging him further until he stood knee-deep in the sea, drawing peace from its strength.
Antonio knew of course that the tide had a life of its own. He set his breathing to match its pace, then his heartbeat naturally followed suit. It was here that the brunette felt a divine connection and nowhere but here. He could not fathom how others felt such a beauty in the form of an elderly cathedral with its elderly tenants. Silently, he shook off his doubts and thoughts of such places and prayed,
"Dios, por favor, allow me to have an adventure unlike any other on this voyage." His fingers traced the permanent lines that had been drawn from his face to his chest, then to either shoulder. There were very few people on whom one could not see this mark; and it was that people whom Antonio was to seek.
Translations:
Sí – Spanish – "Yes"
Dios – Spanish – "God"
Por favor – Spanish – "Please"
Thank you for reading, and if you enjoyed and wish for me to post more, please tell me so or I'm likely to not do it. I kind of like encouragement! :)