The Girl from the Sea

Chapter 1: And there was land

Waves crashed against the beach, blue-grey stone lay in scattered fragments as far as the eye could see, and a crumpled shape lay on the shore, half on land, half in the water.

An older man ambled along the shore, hands swinging cheerfully at his sides as he whistled. He saw the shape and the whistling ceased as he rushed closer.

"Yara-ara!" Water lady, bring rain.

He hurried to the figure's side- a girl, lying still. Too still. His expert fingers sought the too-cold wrist for a pulse. It thrummed, faint but there, under his fingertips.

Encouraged, the man set about the task of reviving the girl. Water dribbled from her mouth, spurting out in bursts as he forced it from her lungs.

"Come on, lass, ye can breathe," he muttered, eyes earnestly searching her face.

She choked. She choked and coughed and wheezed, and he thought it one of the most wonderful sounds he had ever heard.

Her chest heaved, taking in great draughts of air.

"There ye are, lass." A smile split his weathered face. "In with the good air, eh?"

She could breathe, and as soon as she could breathe, she could cry. Deep, shuddering sobs that broke his heart and stole his smile. He reached out his hand, and she grabbed it. He scooped her up in his arms, and she clung to him.

"There, there," he murmured, as the too-light, too-cold girl cried too-hot tears into his shirt. "I've got you. It's all right, I've got you. Nobody's going to hurt ye. Yer alive. You're safe. Yer here. You're alive. Yer safe. You're here."

He shouldered open the door to his cabin, cradling the back of her head like a child's to protect it. The cabin, more of a well-kept shack really, was weather beaten and grizzled on the outside, but the inside was sturdy and clean.

He didn't keep track of how long the girl cried, sheltered in arms strong enough to fight off the world for her. He didn't press; there would be time enough for that later. For now, those same arms could hold her as she held the weight of her world and poured it out in a river of tears against his shoulder.

When she could breathe without the sobs, he set her down, standing and crossing to the stove. He talked the whole time, a reassuring stream of words that meant nothing, and yet, meant everything to her. On his way back, he snagged a blanket from the back of a chair and offered it to her, and she cried harder as he lay it gently across her shoulders

"You'll want ta dry off, lass," he said gently. "There'll be hot stew in a moment." His sharp eyes took in her malnourished state. "When was the last time you ate?"

She only shrugged, and barely that as she buried her face in her hands.

His forehead creased, and he returned to the pot. The liquid inside was bubbling, and he ladled some into a wooden bowl and waved a hand across the surface before passing it to the girl.

"It's hot," he warned.

She sniffed and rubbed the heels of her hands against her eyes, smearing tears sideways across her face. He set the bowl down beside her, and after a moment, she picked it up and brought it to her face. Her trembling lips parted to release a shuddering breath, and they both watched the wisps of steam scatter as her breath chased them away.

The man placed a hand against her arm, with a gentle pat. "There's plenty more when ye finish that, lass. Take it slow."

Warmth.

Warmth, warmth, warmth.

The ocean had been cold and fierce and wild and beautiful.