This is a short story for Sue Vincent’s Thursday photo prompt. The subject matter is very much in my mind at the moment, so get ready for a book plug.

The sentinel watched the last light reflected on the water and tried to see beyond the sand banks and tidal pools to the receding tide line. He could hear, but only just, the gentle sound of waves breaking. There was no wind, the winter night would be cold, and though the gathering cloud announced rain, there would be no storm, more’s the pity.

In the shelter of the rocks, a beacon fire was waiting. He had checked the wood was dry enough to burn, checked his tinder was dry and his steel sharp. But he knew he would see nothing if cloud obscured the moon and the rain began to fall. They were there, in their dragon ships; there could…