[ WP ] The ocean is a scary thing to you . But you made a promise to a friend .

Mar stood at the water ’ s edge as if he were on the edge of a canyon. 
 
 He felt the sand shift beneath his feet, his stony weight pushing into the ground until he was buried nearly to his knees. The day was cold, dreary, and wet – a white sort of day, when the sun seems to shine from the entire sky at once without being bright at all. A faint drizzle encrusted his hairless head in droplets, and when he shivered they scattered away from him like flies. He hated it here more than anything else. 
 
 But he had a promise to keep. 
 
 Den was the one who came before him. Kind Den, sweet Den - Mar remembered him fondly, almost as a father. He had been there, long ago, when Mar had first come into the world, hewn from the living rock by the clever chisel of Man. He had been given a task then, a task only he could complete – to stand guard, watching over their ancestors ’ graves and belongings as their souls passed into the beyond. He had liked that then. Times were simpler – it was just the two of them, matched guards on either side of the crypt, never bothered but once in a blue moon when another had to be put to rest. In the endless hours, they began to understand one another, and Mar learned of Den ’ s great desire to walk free, to explore the world beyond their simple gate. Mar did not understand, but Den ’ s heart was true, and so he listened with earnest while he waited for the next man to be brought into the dark. 
 
 But there were no more men now. 
 
 They had stopped coming long ago. So long, in fact, that Den was beginning to grow a shaggy coat of moss. No one had stopped to give offerings. No new men passed into the dark. They stood, forgotten sentries, guarding a place that living memory had all but forgotten. 
 
 That was, until the others came. 
 
 They were different. The men of the island jungle were wild, to be sure, but they held nature ’ s compassion in their hearts as readily as her fury. Not so with these intruders – their eyes burned with fury, greed, and iron. Mar knew the moment that he had seen them that their time had come. Finally, after so long, they were needed. 
 
 When Mar and Den had lowered their axes to bar the way, the men had been surprised. Soon, surprise gave way to fury, and fury gave way to action. They struck, beating away at the twins of living stone with blades of steel that chipped away at their flesh. It was not enough. The men proved no match – they fell, one by one, until the rest of them fled into the forest. Mar was pleased, then – duty fulfilled, he and Den resumed their post, pleased by what they had wrought. But the war was not over. 
 
 The men came back. This time, they brought something stronger than steel – a barrel of iron, wheeled at great pain through the jungle, pointed at the two. The two were confused, wondering what the strange men were planning, ready to strike should they approach any closer. 
 
 Then, the cannon fired. 
 
 Den was the one to take the blast. It tore through his stomach, splitting the stone in two as readily as thunder. Mar was enraged – before they could fire again, he was upon them, tearing flesh and bone like a hunter skins a hare. They fled, fearing for their lives, but this time Mar was not content to leave them be. He gave chase, killing those he caught until at last there were no more to kill. Only then did he see the true damage they had wrought. Only then did he see the flames. 
 
 Mar returned to his post, embers licking at his flesh. The temple, too, burned – so long it had been in the forest that the two were woven tight, vines entangling stone until they were of a single flesh. Though he could not weep, Mar despaired at what had been done to their home. To his friend. Den was gone – his stone empty, fragmented. Ruined. 
 
 For a long time, Mar knelt by his friend. The forest burned, and fell, and still he did not leave. The embers burnt to ash, and the ash to dirt – and he did not move. It was only when the first twigs pushed their way through the blackened earth that Mar knew that the time for mourning was over. The forest lived on – and so must he. 
 
 He began to walk. He walked everywhere, from the highest peaks to the lowest valleys, exploring every inch of his home in ways that Den never could. He found homes – ruined, burned to the ground long ago. The remnants of their ancient masters. Birds, trees, and insects flourished here, and he met with them until he knew every name. Then, when there was nothing left to know, he walked out onto the sand. 
 
 Though he did not feel the cold, he shivered. There was nothing more for him here – nothing he could learn, nothing he could do. But he knew, in his heart of hearts, that there was more to the world than his tiny home. There must be somewhere, a land across the sea, a land full of the hateful men who had taken his home and friend. 
 
 Facing the horizon, he began to walk again, and was soon buried by the dancing waves of the sea. 

