I closed my eyes in disbelief. I had met The Boatman before. Ten years ago, actually. I have often wondered how much of that night was responsible for what came after, but I didn’t like to dwell on it for too long. I would hate to become bitter.
The moon was cloud-wrapped. Everything around us was shadow. There was no sound bar that of the river as it gently slapped against the side of the boat. The Boatman didn’t feel the need to talk, nor offer any sort of explanation, and I had the good sense not to ask.
I knew where we were going any way. The Isle of In-Between; Kya-Shar, in the old language. If you can avoid it, do.
When I opened my eyes again, The Boatman was there, right in front of me, staring. The clouds parted, and I could see the deep furrows etched across his bark-like skin. He was smiling.
Written for Crimson’s Creative Challenge #3 – I’ve gone a few words over the 150 word limit this week.