We had piled into Mike’s trusty vessel at five am. The sunlight peaking over the rows of sentinels created long shadows that reached two meters past the shoreline. I remember the feeling of nervousness and dread that we would always overcome. Forced optimism just before we crossed into the shadow was routine now. We’d make jokes or light hearted observations as we carried our supplies to the boat. Stray thoughts were shut out.
We had spent some magical days fishing in the bay. Time no longer mattered and Fantastic stories were told with endless laughter. They would vanish from our minds if we found the right mood. All we needed was each other’s company and relief from the clockwork tourist trade routines. In a way we were reassured by the shadows patience, waiting two meters inward from the shoreline.
There were the rumors of olden times though. The town thrown into a state of panic as the sentinels followed their shadows closer and closer. Until one day they just stopped. We prayed they would stay there.