She knew the names they called her.
Never to her face, but muttered and whispered.
The more waspish in the harbour called her “uncan” –
meaning “from another area”.
All the names they used reinforced that she was a stranger.
One kept at arms length.
Her looks betrayed her Nordic heritage.
Long, straight blond hair hung like a curtain
in front of her face, hiding her pale blue eyes.
Not that anyone ever looked her in the face.
Beware the loner amongst you.
He who has spent his life with only himself for company.
So long has he been like this
that it becomes the norm for him.
I was on the quay that day.
That day when the ship came in.
Ghosting over the calm sea it arrived.
A true ghost ship for no sound did it make.
No sails flapping.
No shouted orders to the crew.
I dream of a time to come,
when white horses will pull themselves from the earth
and gallop across the green hills once more.
Carrying riders to an everlasting sunset,
See the lone figure walking in The Village.
A figure kept there against his will.
He does not know how he arrived,
nor why he is being kept.