That same voice was always there, yet he knew it didn't exist.
Why was it always so cruel?
Wrapping himself tighter inside his long jacket he kept gazing towards the mist-filled sea. Beneath him were only the sounds of gashes and angry waves, constantly hitting against the sharp rocks, always battling with each other for power.
He watched at the horizon and waited. "Why are you doing this, little hunter? when will you learn that those warships arent coming here. It's all in your head!"
Every time he thought someone had actually said it, the cold sea breeze blew on his face, making his cheaks tingle. He pulled his dark hood over his head again and wanted to believe the wind wouldn't feel this cold each time. He wanted to believe the wind will change eventually.
The speeding years had made his hands sore and hard. It was even more difficult to use them without excess force or making unfamiliar actions. He didn't know how to nurture things, how to touch a woman's skin, how to be gentle to himself.
He never had a teacher for those.
Thoughts escaped his mind over and over again like ice slipping between his fingers. Too long that ice had melted only to reveal more ice underneath, showing the vast hidden depth which he could not never fully see or touch. So he wanted nothing but to gaze those safe beacons of his mind and recall for that one golden dawn.. when he had seen that greatest of ships coming to his shore, with open sails.. and how it had been filled with laughter.
His shoulder always ached, that wicked wound cried out for the day it had happened. The day he had lost the sound of his laughter. The day his children were not the same anymore. The day he had understood his failures.
This island was his pride. Nothing grew there anymore, the Sun didn't warm its rocks, there was nothing but the sounds of his own memories.. and those memories bathed in anger and grey shades of despair.
He tightened up his crossbow and aimed patiently and waited, until he released his finger.
The arrow whistled through the air, until it faded to the distance. Once it hit something, there was a yell so long and disturbing, that for a moment there were no other voices in whole universe beside that hateful cry.
"When will your storm calm down, little hunter?" the parasitic scar whispered to him, like his shoulder had suddenly grown a shape of its own.
"Until my arrows fly no more. When I am too blind to watch the distance. When I can no longer see the storm nor stretch my bow anymore."
He walked to the wounded man, who was now holding his stomach in agony while breathing heavily. One fiece hit of his fist and the man's head was smashed onto the rock like a coconut. It wasn't hard to end a human life who wanted to kill a defenceless being. Not hard at all.
Then he picked the small seal pup from the ground and saw it was unharmed. He carried it near his crumbled beacon and fed him all the fish he had caught this morning. Then he released it back to the waters.
"Go find your beacon, little one. Come tell me if you see those warships I've mentioned before?"
This had been his question he asked for the last 50 years, unaware of how many worlds he had already saved without a single war.