Dawn unfolded itself in the heavens
as Finch bustled on the deck.
He cursed, net in hand, as every fish that appeared stayed among its brethren.
Gem, watching keenly, chortled from her place at his neck.
All too aware of his growling stomach,
he paused the hauling of his failed catch
and turned to finish tying off his hammock.
He frowned at his raccoon, who had found a meal in a shell she’d smashed.
Finally accepting he’d get no breakfast,
Finch consulted his maps and turned his mind to business.
Then, trotting around and giving his ropes a test,
he nearly fell overboard in his briskness.
“We might as well go to Lysander Isle.”
he told Gem, who didn’t respond,
“they’ll have information worthwhile.”
With ‘bartering’, it seemed, he’d grown quite fond.
After changing the ship’s direction,
he slept on the deck, in the sun’s rays.
From his face fell all tension
as he dreamed of better days.
The glow of the sky
and the rocking of the ship
cradled him where he lie.
That is, of course, until there came a lurching dip.
Finch was on his feet in an instant.
The world around him shifted.
He tugged the ropes- they remained resistant.
With a look around, his sleep haze lifted.
Lysander Isle had come to meet them.
Into the docks, the Moon Gem had crashed.
A small old man watched this from over his goblet’s rim.
On instinct, Finch fingered the dagger he’d stashed.
“Quite an entrance.” the man crooned.
“Good day, Sir. So sorry to disturb you.” the boy replied.
The stranger traced the boat’s engravement, an emblem of the moon.
“What is there left to disturb?” he dramatically sighed.
Taking a small satchel and settling the ship,
Finch motioned for Gem to follow, stepping onto the dock.
The old man watched- from his goblet he took a sip.
A group of children hovered nearby, eager for an alien to mock.
“Is there, perhaps, an inn where I can sleep?”
The man stared, and the was a pause.
“Nay, there is a farmhouse, if you can earn your keep.”
Gem peeked from Finch’s hair, shell still in claws.
Shouldering his satchel and thanking the geezer,
He took the direction he was told.
“Your name, Crash?” the man called, apparently a teaser.
“Finch.” he said over his shoulder, laughing- his elder was unexpectedly bold.
The road he was directed
stayed true to one form.
With wheat, dirt, and slow sunshine it was infected.
A blanket of growth stretched, and only by the path was it torn.
With no one but Gem in which to confide,
all his fears, hopes and memory
seeped through him and to his feet; he never broke his stride.
The soul of Finch was observed by the sun- bright and shimmery.
The upbeat hum of insects
narrated his stroll.
The long grass bowed, as if paying respects.
His stolen coin purse clinked as he stepped toward his goal.