"And to the left is the ruins of the old castle of-" She continues speaking not even noticing that one of the tourists ventures away from the group. It's not very difficult you know, slipping away from everything. Being invisible. 

 

There's slight coastal wind, rustling the leaves. The shadow pauses, inhaling the heavy sea air as though one could absorb a past long forgot in a single breathe and expel all the memories on a single exhale. The drifter ambles along a slightly neglected path. The soil new, untouched and turned by many a storm and erosion, though the trees seem to part and embrace a long lost friend. A murder of crows encircle the aspen, serenading a spectral force, with their demonic cries. It's been too long, they mourn. 

 

"Over here lays the bodies of..." The tour guides shrill voice carries in the air, as if relayed by an unseen force. The drifter pauses and turns their head. Disgust permeates the atmosphere around them. 

 

The sun is momentarily blocked by raging clouds and upon reemergence a second figure joins the first. The force of the waves increase, swelling with newly kindled purpose, perhaps anger. Its mist sprays, dusting the leafs and tangling grass. 

 

The two figures weave between the trees effortlessly never once acknowledging each out, but neither unaware. 

 

The clouds swirl over head again, the sun's rays caressing the end of the path. Each time a new figure joining. 

 

They halt upon the waters edge. Various masts and hulls of degrading ships stand out from the ocean. A whole fleet of fine artisanship left to rot unseen from the world. Out of touch with the times. 

The murder of crows and figures move onwards through the tide. 

Gradually disappearing beneath the surface.