The horses flocked south for the winter. Down to Florida, USA where the sun is always shining and the birds always singing. Montrez, who has nothing but quadropeds and the sea returns to the one that never diminishes nor leaves him.

He sits on a boulder, away from the reaching fingers of the frothy ocean, and stares at the sinking horizon. Due to the weather, the dark skinned man is wearing thermal socks, long johns, waterproof boots, canvas pants, a flannel shirt and a winter coat, complete with scarf and hat. Definitely a man prepared for the worst.

Dark brown dreadlocks thump against his coat in the heavy wind, reminding him that he needs a new job, and that it can't be in the food industry.

Chocolate eyes watch as the sand is stirred into lines and mazes and smoothed over again. His mind is doodling in the sand while his fingers stay nice and warm inside his pockets.

Montrez is bored. Montrez is brooding.

Why, Neptune, he thinks, did they take my horses away from me?

“The winter freeze be late this year,” a low and rumbling voice announced the seaman’s arrival as he came to stand behind and to the right of the younger gentleman on the rock. Moby, dressed in a woollen seaman’s coat which stretched halfway past his waist, looked out over the bay. He began to rub his hands in a desperate attempt to keep them warm, periodically stopping to breathe heavily on them. “She’s holdin’ her own against the cold this year ain’t she.” Moby eyed the man on the rock for a moment, assuring himself they had never met, and then went back to staring at the bay.

Such a start that Montrez gave was testiment to how easily he could be snuck up on(sometimes, when he wasn't using his mind to search for people or things or...cracks in the sidewalk). A hand quickly pulled from its nice, warm spot in his coat pocket and landed on top of his mind's handywork. If anyone saw that, had seen what he was doing...well he didn't know what might happen but he wasn't too keen on finding out.

"Who is 'she'?"

He turned to look at the old man, his own voice smooth and quiet, accustomed to speaking in soothing tones.

Moby let out chuckle which soon turned into a raspy cough. He covered his chapped, beard encircled lips in an attempt to muffle the cough and gain control of his breathing. Once he had he looked sidelong at the other man and gave him a half smile.

“The sea my boy,” Moby cried, his voice still a bit scratchy from his coughing. “That out there is the most wondrous of mistresses.” A rough, thick finger shot out and gestured at the rolling bay. “She’ll rock you to sleep like a loving mother, toss you about like an enraged Amazon, or simply lay still as Ophelia. The full range of femininity lies within her.”

Moby straightened suddenly, inhaling the chill wind coming of the bay, a visible calm settling over him.

"Oh."

He looked away, back to the undulating waters. He hadn't asked after the old man's health when he coughed because unless he began choking or fell over half dead, there was nothing Montrez could do anyway.

He shrugged and his mind left to play under the waves, and did so invisibly.

"I always thought the sea was Poseidon's realm." This wasn't said to challenge, but to offer an alternate viewpoint. As far as Montrez saw it, those characteristics could be leant to either sex.

“Eh, Poseidon,” Moby gave the stranger a look of confusion which slowly faded into vague recollection. “Oh, ye mean the Greek fellow with the trident…well whatever floats yer boat boy.” The old man chuckled to himself a bit and blew on his hands to keep them warm. He moved to wards the rock and made as if he meant to sit next to the other gentleman.

Air puffed from the dreadlocked boy's nose in a sort of half-laugh and his mouth turned sideways into half of a smile.

"Don't you mean 'who'?"

Moby took a small corner of the rock for himself and looked over his shoulder at the man.

“Who,” a bushy grey eye brow peaked in intrigue. “No lad, I’ve heard of yer old man Poseidon, don’t have much faith that he’s actually the water though.” The old man bent over and removed one his boots as he continued. “I think the sea herself is a woman, her master may be a man, but the waters themselves are female.”

Moby pulled off his socks and tucked them in his boots. He dug his toes into the sand as he waited for his companion to respond.

It was freezing outside and the crazy old man with a cold was taking off his socks and shoes? Montrez guessed that he'd probably answered his own question with one word: crazy.

He shrugged nonchalantly. Who was he to pick genders for the rest of the world? He hadn't seen evidence to either arguments. Perhaps nature itself didn't have a gender, just its respective gods.

Montrez sneezed and noticed with displeasure that the other person's feet stank. Montrez, who didn't mind the stench of horse manure and sweat and hay thought that a man's feet stank. What is the world coming to?

“Cat got yer tongue then,” Moby stood, stretched and inhaled deeply. He made his way to the water and pulled up his pants at the knees, allowing a thin wave to wash over his sparsely haired toes and ankles.

“Well, ye may not be much for conversation, but you’ve got a bit of a talent for drawing,” Moby looked down at the sand beneath the mini-waves, his eyes watching the lines disappear as the water rolled in and then reappear of their own accord. “Simply a remarkable talent…”

The patterns stop abruptly. The situation is no longer comfortable or even stale as it might have become. Montrez is using his mind to make sure that there are no obstacles behind him and will soon be leaving.

"Thanks," he said, standing up and taking a step or two backwards, "Have a nice day, sir."

No one has known before, no one has found out. M.C.'s always been very careful and this slip up is rattling on his nerves. He is suddenly reminded of the incident in the bad end of town. Decision made, he walks away.

“Bah, calm yer nerves boy,” Moby called after the man. “Ye may have some little thing that be special with ye, but there’s no reason to shrink away from me.” The old man waded into the water a bit further, the cool waves now lapping at his knees.

“Ye can’t always be runnin’ kid,” the man said hoping the man behind his back could still hear him, he wasn’t even sure if the other man was still within earshot. “On of these days everything yer runnin’ from’ll catch up to ye, then you’ll have to face the simple truth…” Moby sucked in a deep breath as he stepped out a bit further and let the winter water come up just past his hips.

“Yer different...”

His trek off the beach stopped, but he didn't turn around.

Things will catch up with him.

People, memories.

Did that kid have friends? Family? Had Montrez left any kind of trace of what happened?

The simple truth was that he had killed someone. It was in self defence, but we're speaking plain, honest and simple truth. Take out all the variables and there was still someone lying dead in the alley at the end of the night.

And he didn't need an old man with a death wish to tell him what he already knew.

Montrez kept walking and left the area.