As the men of the Larboard Watch toiled, Alder regained a sense of calm lost in the conflict and subsequent reassignment. The gentle sway of the hammock gave rise to fond memories having set task and soul to a restorative idle in just such a sling at the rim of the dock yard.
Alder inhaled deeply the fragrant salt air as he stroked the worn handle of a hammer that lay against his chest. It rose and gradually fell with each breath as they became more tranquil. His casual embrace mirrored the solace of one that strokes a cross or pendant rich with private significance. Captain Lasseter had requested this tool of him and he willingly obliged, though none but he and his grandfather before him had ever held the instrument. Even so, Alder would not have considered refusing such a request, nor expect others to appreciate his sentiment. This hammer; as much of his other gear, bore the worn groves of his ancestors grip and time had fashioned his imprint as well.
“Neither a borrower nor a lender be” his grandfathers words had echoed “Be far from yer tools and ye may find yerself farther still from yer next meal.”
It was at that moment Alder realized he hadn’t even stopped his quest for the next task aboard the Heron to seek the post his nail had made fast. As he leaned deep into the last remnants of relaxation, he realized it would take no small amount of effort to refashion his days from those of quiet resignation to do all that needed done with little support or guidance and less appreciation, to one of deliberate and mindful leadership. Alder welcomed the later.
