Creative Writing: The Beach

We traveled a shadowed path; the caravan crawled between folded mountains bridged by a natural limestone overpass. The tapping of gravel ricocheted off the cliff's face, chips of rock and grit broke from its crumbling ceiling—the sun flared beyond the grotto. Lush lowlands rolled a stormy ocean. Mounds of tumbling soil dotted in sparse trees filled the gaps where tides would swell as domed mountains that peaked to clouded heights. The crumpled plains surged with countless veins, water reflecting skies of a perfect blue and quenching the thirst of flowered meadows. Our trail lead a winding route around each hill, a serpentine pattern through the grassland's currents—breaking waves of ridges through wide-open tunnels, and passing streams by

You're plenty young. Lose that hood, show those pretty eyes you hide and I have no doubt a woman would—" I interrupted. "Your horses are slowing." His face grew embarrassed and his words impatient. "Well, they're my horses, I bred them, raised them. I think I would know if—ah, see? They had shown no signs of fatigue, but now they do! Only a few feet of difference and I knew exactly the moment they needed to rest." Gareth pulled the lead, guiding the horses to water. "I know you're anxious to continue but we must stop. That is my decision for the benefit of our treasured beasts." "Perhaps you should avoid stopping on the bridge." The caravan stationed on a dusty stretch with sparse grass off the winding trail and before an expansive river. Vivid dye stained a verdant ocean, a forest of flowers painted the hillsides in colorful petals and blooming buds. Ambrosial roses and every shade of tulip swayed in an eclipsing breeze—dancing to lullabies that sang through the wagon's hull. The horses meandered, released from their reins to graze amongst the meadow's slopes. Kaleb squealed with playful laughter as he chased after Auskal's tail—the fox slithered in circles around the boy, avoiding capture with each swoop of his

The water flowed with gentle currents, a soft trickle and calming sounds as it deposits gravel along its bank. Low wooden railings enclosed the path and the daughter sat upon them, back to the stream while she twiddled her thumbs. "Homesick?" I spoke to the girl. Her gaze left her feet, then returned without a word. "I find that the best things said often come from a troubled