He promised to return; he left his gun and blade and she said she’d wait, and as his ship sailed, he watched her standing alone on the shore, wishing he was holding her cheek to his, her salty hair shining with a halo of gold against the rising sun and her skirts, heavy with broad leaf weed, hiding her new, long legs, still shimmering with reminiscent scales...
Unhurried, his ship traversed the waves, the ocean slapping her wooden hull, and he watched as she disappeared behind the cliffs; one last quest and he’d be hers.
As he stepped away from the bulwark his feet froze as her voice, clear and pure rose over the boom of the sea...her song, keen and true...and tears slipped down his weathered face as his band of buccaneers paused, unable to bear his siren’s song.
He could never resist the plaintive call of his lover and moments later the depths had claimed the hearts of all and his boat lay abandoned in the neighbouring cove.
For years she would wait...and sing...until the day the waiting deep would welcome her return.