Summer 41, X008

Right now, we're on a wagon heading to a port town. Marge mentioned we were going to the beach, and the three of us guys just stared at her, confused. "Huh?" we all said in unison.

She then explained that it’s a place close to the sea, and yet again, we three were dumbfounded. So then she went on a rant on what a beach is.

The conversation went something like this:

Marge started by saying, “It’s a place near a body of water, but the ground there is made of sand.”

Hank, looking genuinely puzzled, asked, “What’s sand?”

Marge sighed, clearly frustrated, and began her explanation. “Okay, imagine you’re holding a bunch of really tiny pieces of something that are smaller than a pebble. Not like dust, but not big enough to be a rock. They’re small, rough, and kind of gritty. If you take a handful of these pieces, they’re soft and slip through your fingers, like grains falling through your hand.”

Hank nodded as if he understood, but the blank look on his face told me otherwise.

Then Daelan chimed in. “So, if it's near water, doesn't that make it a river or a lake? But with sand? So, it’s like a river or lake... but with extra steps?”

Marge shot him a glare, clearly ready to correct him, but then froze. She thought for a moment, sighed, and quietly admitted, “Yeah, you might actually be right…”

With a defeated wave of her hand, Marge pointed at the wagon. “Look, just get in, and you’ll see when we get there.”

Daelan, ever the smartass, said, “I know a river nearby. We could get there without the wagon.”

“Shut up and get in!” Marge snapped, rolling her eyes like she’d heard this argument a hundred times before.

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So, we did what she said—mostly to avoid another one of her daily lectures.

And that's how we ended up on this wagon, heading to a place called the beach.

Oh my God. So this is a beach. The water is so vast and beautiful, it almost looks like it’s made of gold, sparkling and shimmering under the sun. And this is the sand Marge keeps talking about—it’s golden, stretching out as far as the eye can see. Not only that, there’s tall water that crashes on the sand and makes such a roaring noise.

Daelan and Hank looks raring to go.

And that smell—it smells delicious; it came from the stall that looks like the owner is grilling some kind of creature.

Oh, so that’s a grilled squid.

I looked at Marge and pointed at the stall and asked her what it was and said that. She also said, “There’s some fish that you can even eat raw, but I don’t know what fish are exactly safe to eat.”

When Daelan and Hank heard that, their eyes widen and their mouth starts to water.

When the wagon stopped, Marge immediately launched into her instructions, so focused that she had her eyes shut the whole time.

It went something like this:

“So, before we go in, there’s a place where you can change into clothes you don’t mind getting wet. Then, make sure to stretch before getting into the water. Oh, and the sunset here is amazing—it’s blah blah blah.”

I didn’t really catch most of it, but while she was going on, I glanced back and noticed Daelan and Hank were already gone. I turned toward the beach and saw them gleefully running toward the water.

I told Marge, and she immediately sprang into action. It was the fastest I’d ever seen her move.

She charged after Daelan and Hank, slammed both their heads with a well-aimed strike, and dragged them back by their collars.

When they came to, they were stuck in a seiza position, listening to Marge’s lecture.

Haley and I were given the okay sign to go to the beach.

The sand feels so strange under my feet—soft, yet gritty at the same time. Exactly like Marge described. Haley, however, seems completely unfazed by it. I guess she and Marge must have come here before, back when they weren’t in the village.

Why didn’t they ever invite us before? Oh, right—they did. But the three of us would always shrug it off and say, “There’s a perfectly good lake nearby.” How foolish we were.

I should stop writing and just enjoy the day. I’ll write more once it’s over.