Arella walked the pier, watching grey waters crash against the wood. Salty wind, wet with sea spray, kissed the light brown of her cheeks and played with the black waves of her hair.
Aratoro stirred in his wooden tower, turning to look at her. His skin was burned to a deep brown by long hours in the sun, his face was made hard and wrinkled by long hours in the wind, and his hands were worn by long hours of work. His grey poncho whipped back and forth in the wind. He drew his blade of patterned steel from its scabbard, holding it out towards the young woman walking down his pier.
“Why have you come?” he asked.
“To learn,” she answered, knowing the challenge by heart.
“And what have you come to learn?”
“The secret of the tower and the mystery of the waves.”
“And you know,” he asked, “what must be done to obtain this knowledge?”
Arella drew her blade, letting the steel shine in the sunlight. “I do.”
“Then come.” Aratoro’s face cracked with a smile. “And may you be the first to win.”
Steel crashed against steel as the grey waves thundered against the pier.
Word Count: 199
This is for Sunday Photo Fiction. Thanks to Jules Paige for the photo prompt!