It's almost morning where he is, and the harbor buzzes with sounds of ocean and creaking wood and the birds flocking overhead, and nothing else. He can hear the waves tumbling over the sand and stones, taste salt as it ebbs from shore and returns to sea.

He moves his neck for no reason, really, and his head follows, sand crunching in his ears as he watches the shoreline. And the ocean. And the horizon, where the sun bleeds with him. He smiles at it, but it doesn't smile back. It never does.

When his eyes close the ocean washes into his thoughts and he's still not ready, wants to stand and bid the sun to day like he's rarely done before. Wishes that he could stay one more night instead of an eternity.

He almost drifts but a bell rings from a ship, and he returns. The water lapping at his arm and sides is cold, stings and takes a little of him with it back to the sea.

He opens his eyes again, one heavier than the other, the sand fading into water into sky around him. Yellow and red flickers, maybe only in his mind now.

He has to go. The weariness set in his bones, darkness bathing his mind like the shadows he's breathed for years. He doesn't want to, but the feeling is the fog behind his eyes, floating with memories and dreams and wants of tomorrow. He can see his brothers in the mist. He can't remember if they've come to anchor him, or to take him away.

The fog lifts with morning. All he can think is, the sun is warm.

But he has always shunned the light. When the darkness comes, he cannot fear it.