Close Compeers

A full moon hung high over the night sky, its borrowed light illuminating the water below.  The stars accompanied the moon in its radiance, placing sparkles of splendor all over the sky.  As the water moved smoothly over the sandy shore, the sea looked as though it were a rippled mirror that reflected such natural beauty back towards the sky, doing all it could to repay the firmament for such elegance.  Down upon that shore, nary a sound was heard, the night air flowing freely about the area as the waters graced the shells with their salty embrace every now and again.

A splash broke that silence, one of the many shells on the sand hitting the water.  The ripples spread out onto the shore as another followed right after.  From higher on the beach, one soul took in the beauty of the night, a third shell being thrown farther out into the water.

He was a male of the Iking race, the Ikings being a species of elf like creatures with the traits and characteristics of animals.  His own was that of a wolf, his brown hair flowing with the wind as it occasionally flew over his black head band and the Chinese symbol on his forehead.  He pushed back some of the hair that got into his eyes, his black muscle shirt tightening a bit as he placed some of his hair behind his furry, tan colored ears.  Resting his hand on his raised right knee, he tapped his fingers within the black fingerless gloves on his gray pants, his black martial arts shoes also tapping into the sand.  The wind picked up slightly, his brown scarf flowing behind him as he looked for another shell to throw.

His ears twitched suddenly, picking up the approach of another.  Grinning, he located another shell and threw it as far as he could into the sea.

“Artoru,” he called, his orange eyes gazing out into the distance, “you’re not all that stealthy at times…you’ve really got to work on that.”

In response, a rock flew over his head and into the water in the distance, the stone having gone farther than the shells of before.

Also an Iking, Artoru shared the traits of a fox, his fur being tan in color and his long, red hair flowing in the wind behind him.  He wore an orange vest jacket with a pair of jeans, walking up behind his friend in his dark sneakers.  Crouching down a bit, he gave his response to his childhood friend.

“Zatura, why are you out at this time of night?”

“Are you kidding me?” Zatura began, grinning as he turned slightly towards Artoru, “It’s still early out.”

“It’s two in the morning.”

“See?  Still early.  Besides, there’s nothing to do anyways.  It’s too boring to sleep.”

“An interesting oxymoron, to say the least.”

“And you know well about moronic stuff, don’t you?”

Artoru, in response, dropped his left hand on Zatura’s head and pushed forward.  It wasn’t meant to be a sort of painful counter, but was more of a playful gesture amongst friends.  Zatura looked at Artoru afterwards before gazing out into the distance again.

“Besides,” Zatura began, “why are you out here anyway?”

“Why else?” Artoru responded, standing again, “To see what you were doing at this time of night.”

“Aww,” Zatura mocked, stretching his legs out on the sand as he leaned back a bit on his hands, "I have a keeper.  Thank you ever so much for watching over me.”

“Since we first met,” Artoru began, “you really have been like a brother to me.  I may not be your ‘keeper,’ but I’m here for you whenever needed.”

Zatura continued to grin, though not as much as he was doing before.  He watched the waves caress the beach shore for a moment, both of them silent for the time being.  Zatura spoke up again, turning to look at Artoru as he did so.

“Hey…how long have we known each other?  You know, the time that we’ve lived on this island…how long that we’ve been friends.”

Artoru looked at him for a moment before gazing up to the night sky, calculating the time that they had grown up on that lightly inhabited island.  After a few seconds of thought, he finally replied, “I’d say about two decades now.”

“Huh…it doesn’t even seem that long now…time must’ve flown by all this time.”

“That’s what happens when you have fun.”

Again, they were silent, the wind blowing over both of them as the night air gave a comforting breeze to the sand and the shore.  Zatura spoke up yet again.

“I think that, after all of this time, I also consider you to be more of my brother than a friend.  It seems kind of…right, you know?”

Artoru smiled to this comment, the first time that he had done so since he arrived.

“Yes, I know well what you mean.  Achates to Aeneas, so to speak; more brothers than friends, loyal and true.”

“Yeah…that sounds about right,” Zatura said, grabbing at the sand with his left hand as he began to rise.  Placing his right hand in his pocket, he faced the length of the beach, Artoru to the left of him.

“Well then,” Zatura began, “shall we go?”

“With the coming of the dawn, it might be wise to get some rest for the day ahead.”

“Alright…race ya!”

Without warning, Zatura threw a handful of sand at Artoru, running off along the beach after this action.

“Hey!”

Artoru was just able to block the sand from his face before he was hit, a bit of it still getting in his hair and on his vest.  Brushing himself off quickly, he started to chase after the fleeing Zatura.

“You can’t catch me, ‘big brother’,” Zatura yelled behind him, “You were always too slow when it came to keeping up.”

“Such a misconstrued memory, ‘little brother’,” Artoru called after him, “Let me remind you of my true speed.”

The two raced along the beach, the moonlight casting their shadows to the side.  From above, it looked as though their silhouettes were in competition with each other as well, Artoru’s form actually catching up to that of Zatura’s.

The night air flowed through with the sound of laughter, the joviality of two had at such a late hour.  Artoru and Zatura, more brothers than friends, added their steps in the sand with the race that they had, the waves slowly washing over each step laid within.  Though the waves would eventually clear the beach of their presence, never would the memories of brotherhood ever escape these closest of compeers.