blacksent

   The tide falls, bringing closure to dusk, proclaiming the night. Crystal-flecked ebon rules the sky with only a faint sliver of moonlight balancing on the horizon. Here, the ocean and shore divulge alliance of water and earth. One gives as one takes.      The evening begins, giving Ncon little notice. There is no protocol for his task: it has no precedent. He paces, slowly tracking his own muted steps in the beach sand, absently counting shells and driftwood.   A faint smell of moist carbon returns his attention to the neglected firecircle, where coals glow stubbornly with life. Ncon has tended the watchfire for weeks. A few ships have