"Papa?"
There was an old man and a young boy sitting cross-legged at the edge of the dock. The man was fixing nets, and the boy was trying to do the same. The man worked methodically and efficiently, his fingers splicing and melting the ropes back together in the blink of an eye. The boy had managed to entangle himself, and was discretely trying to free his hand from the mess without his father noticing that he had gotten stuck in the first place. This is why he was whistling, and lightly shaking his limp wrist, as if bored. He didn't want to attract the disapproval of the guru.
"Papa, why must we do this.?"
It was a cold morning, and the fog clung around the two hunched fingers like a mother. Their world was old boards. of the most uncomfortable make. and their nets. Beyond that everything was blue, green and grey. The boy was uncomfortable, but the old man, being made entirely of wood, had little in the way of a sensory apparatus. He spoke with a deep, barky voice that flaked of into splinters at the end of sentences.
"I must do this because I am a fisherman, and this is what fisherman do. You must do this because someday you will be a fisherman too."
The boy stopped to consider this for a long moment. He considered his house, and he considered his family, but he also considered trees, and wind, and other strange creatures. He considered the pretty girl down the road, and he considered his friend, Charles. He considered knights in shining armour duelling distressing damsels and thought himself mighty clever for such an original twist. After a great deal more of such consideration, his mind returned to the present.
"But what if I don't want to be a fisherman."
The old man sighed, for there is only one response to such a question. Unfortunately, he was not used to talking to something that was either a fish, a boat or a cloud.
"Son, you may not realise this yet, but you will someday."
The boy finally freed his hand, and grinned in relief. Then he grinned in confusion.
"Realise what?"
"That everyone envies the role of the fisherman. With the obvious exception of our good king, their are no people no more respected in this land."
"Really."
The man squinted at his rope.
"Indeed, for their are none stronger, nor more able, than a fisherman."
"You can't mean to say that you could best a pirate, or one of the Amaul Guards."
The man grimaced at his rope.
"Indeed I do, pirates are criminals, and as such could never hope to best an honest man in a fair fight, in fact, I have kept some of the more famous pirate leader's skulls as trophies to remind myself of exactly that."
"How come I've never seen them then."
"Naturally, I keep them locked in the sea chest under my bed. You are still too young to see them now, but I have left them to you in my will."
"Thanks pa."
"You are welcome. As for the Amaul, I have never had cause to fight one (for that would be villainous) but I can say this: Although they are admirable men, and their daily training regime is somewhat impressive, it can not hope to match fighting sea monsters for a living."
"Fishermen fight sea monsters?"
"As must all who sail these waters. They are a plague upon this sea that has cursed us for many generations."
"Well..."
Understandably, the boy's response took a while.
"Well, if all that sail these waters are forced to battle sea monsters, then surely your pirates would be just as well trained as the fisherman."
"You would think so, but they are dirty rotten cheaters. They bring along cannons to drive the monsters off, which is helpful in the short term, but breeds laziness and self satisfaction later. Everyone knows that the only noble way to take down a sea monster is with one's fists."