Quoted By:
<span class="mu-s">Unknown Day of Hastrimun, 883 A.C.E. – The Cathagi Strait</span>
Consciousness returns to you with all the velvet softness of a mallet to the skull. You explode out of the water, arms splashing as you somehow retch and gulp for air at once. You find yourself waist deep on a rocky shore, the seas are still rough but the waves are merely causing you to stumble at this depth rather than plunge you underwater between each breath. With a start you realise that your arms are empty, you can't remember when she slipped out of your grasp...
<span class="mu-i">“JEESSS!!”</span> You stumble out of the waves, scanning the shoreline of this rocky outcrop. <span class="mu-i">“JEES-”</span>
There! A limp figure lying prone in the gravel further up the shoreline. You dash over, as best as your exhausted frame can manage, relieved to see the mask of the Fae splutter and spill sea water out when you turn them over. You look around for some sparse cover from the elements. Further inland on this rocky islet is a spire jutting out of the seas like a fingernail in the ocean. You have to squint against the howling wind and flicking rain, but you could swear there is something like a cave in the side of the cliff face. You look around, seeing nothing but rough seas and tumbling waves to either side of the islet. It doesn’t appear that you have a lot of options.
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…
…
It takes quite a while for the sparse driftwood you gathered to dry out enough to light and get a fire going, but the effort pays dividends in the end. Jess the Kid is still shivering, but she does shuffle closer to the burning warmth as the storm rages outside. At least she’s conscious now, albeit utterly miserable. You decide against blaming her for your misfortune in being swept overboard, it will do little good to blame the snapping of the lifeline on your only remaining companion for the present.
Perhaps the Coy Siren will sail by when the seas calm in a day or two, perhaps she has already passed and it is in the Almighty’s hands whether you are picked up by charitable sailors or opportunistic slavers. Mayhap the currents have taken you far out any shipping lane and your fate is to live off fish and clams for the rest of your natural life, or shorter if dehydration sets in. Best to not dwell on such things, especially where immediate survival is the more pressing issue. Despite your own chill, you ensure Jess get’s the lion’s share of the warmth offered by the fire.
But it is not the cold that makes the hairs on your neck stand up and cause you to look behind you, further into the gloomy cave that you have crawled into for shelter.
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