Fiction: Home at the Edge of the Ocean

This month's Words for Wednesday's prompts are provided by Wisewebwoman and Elephant's Child over here. This week's prompts are: white, painter, courtesy, recommendation, neighbour, disagree, traffic, ambition, conference, healthy and this lighthouse photo. I've managed to use all the words (some in different forms) except conference.

Fiction: Home at the Edge of the Ocean
At the edge of the ocean, toward the end of the island, the lighthouse stands gleaming in the morning sun. From within the lighthouse, Ben glances out toward the blue sky and then down below at the rocks and sand and the receding water.
    Some years ago, on a freezing winter night, Ben appeared from within the cold water and crawled out onto the sandy ground. He wore no clothes but he held a worn book in his hand. Mrs. Hodge, the owner of the lighthouse, found him and took him into the lighthouse saying he could only stay for one night. But Mrs. Hodge didn't throw him out the next day or the next. One sunny afternoon, she came in with a basket of bread and said Ben could live in the lighthouse but he must help her with her three foxhounds and occasionally, work at her lodging. Mrs. Hodge told anyone who cares to listen that Ben is one of her nephews though anyone with eyes can see no similarities between the two but it helps that Ben looks fifteen years younger than Mrs. Hodge's fifty years.
    The lodging stands a few feet away from the lighthouse where Mrs. Hodge houses seasonal sailors and a wandering tourist or two. Traffic at the lodging have been low as most people either dismissed the island or could not find it on most maps. From time to time, there would be disagreements between the boarders that broke out in fist fights and ended with broken dishware and furniture. Mrs. Hodge just lets them go at each other without a fuss. She have always said it is healthy to fight. No one can stay calm their whole life. As a courtesy, she does not take sides nor ask them to leave but she would add additional charges to their bills.
    Ben takes in a deep breath of the cool air with hints of fresh paint. Just yesterday, Mrs. Hodge, had Ben refreshed the exterior walls of the lighthouse and the lodging. Some time ago, the lighthouse had been painted white to match the lodging or perhaps the lodging had been painted white to match the lighthouse. Mrs. Hodge can no longer remember which is true. But her recommendation is always to trust your eyes and not your neighbor's words.
    In half an hour, Ben comes out of the lighthouse and feeds the foxhounds in their pen beside the lodging. They jump up on the fence when they sees him. A moment after, Ben enters the lodging for his usual breakfast which he makes. Aside from helping with Mrs. Hodge's dogs and other various chores, Ben had gotten into the habit of cooking for the boarders. Mrs. Hodge is a fairly good cook but she often hates the task.
    On the island, Ben has learned that one does not need to work up a sweat to fill up their days. Aside from helping Mrs. Hodge, Ben sometimes works as a healer though rarely anyone gets sick and even when the boarders fight, there is not much need for him. Ben often spends his days taking long walks or having inane conversations with anyone nearby. It is what he prefers.

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On a cool evening, as Ben sits in bed reading, he hears loud shouting outside. He peers out the window. There is a gathering down below at the edge of the sands. Ben half runs down the winding stairs and into the small entry where he puts on his rain boots and coat. If it's anything like last week where a boat full of dead fishes with a dead fisherman washed on shore, there is no rush but Ben have a feeling he is needed somehow.
    Near the crowd, Ben pauses. He isn't sure he wants to see what the water has brought in. After all, his own arrival on the island had been similar. Though all he remembers now is that he had been angry and ran off on his own. By the time he reached the island, he had no desire to return home. If Mrs. Hodge had not found him, he would have perished.
     In the gaps between people's shoulders, he can make out a large shape lying on the sandy ground. The crowd parts and Mrs. Hodge beckons Ben to come closer. There is little moonlight out but the lanterns the crowd have brought with them brightly lit the small circle they have formed around the creature. Barks from Mrs. Hodge's dogs echo in the distance. A cool wind is running about.
    "The poor thing. I think it's dead," Mrs. Hodge says as she tucks at her shawl with one hand and grips a lantern with the other. The lines beneath her eyes are heavy. 
    Ben looks down at the large creature. The narwhal has a gray spiral tusk though it no longer ends in a sharp point. Its bluish-gray long body with mottled patterns appears lifeless. Ben bends down and examines the creature's blowhole on top of its head. Gently, Ben pulls out a short strand of sea weed, a few tiny pebbles and what looks like a small glass bottle from the hole. The poor creature must have been suffering due to the lack of oxygen. Ben places a hand on the whale. The creature's skin is cold and smooth but there is still warmth there. A small electric current shoots from his fingers and into the creature. If he waits, the whale may breathe again and live.
    Time passes slowly. Ben looks up and around the faces, both familiar and unfamiliar. Most he knows from the lodging, a few from the various houses that dotted around the island and some are strangers but all of them are looking at him with wide eyes.
    Ben peers down at the motionless whale. Its size is quite small compare to the ones he had seen before. In this cold winter, the creature would have no trouble surviving but perhaps he had been separated from his group and strayed here.
    A few moments pass by and still the creature reminds motionless. Ben removes his hand and stands up. With one last glance, he turns to head back to the lighthouse. He is without ambition for his own existence but he have always thought all living being can survive anything if only they have the will. But seeing so many creatures in their fragile state, he wonders if perhaps it's too easy for death to come for them. 
    The sand clings to his boots with each step. He pauses at the front of the lighthouse. The little light from the moon lands on the tip of his boots. It has been years since he had gotten legs and still, he is surprised every time he looked down. He doesn't miss his tail much but he sometimes wonders if the sea misses him.
    He veers his eyes away and opens his door when a loud, squeaky whistle sweeps by his ears. Then there is the sound of cheers and a loud splash follow by more cheers. Without turning around, he smiles and walks inside his home.