Those who were taken...
They never came back, dragged beneath the waves never to return.
Their haunting screams were a symbol of their horrific deaths.
Like shadows they lay in wait, the deep blue waters hiding them from view.
With sharp claws they...
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~•~
Cally is awoken from her slumber by a low grumbling sound in her stomach. Hunger. It's quite obvious. She was probably too stunned by shock last night to take notice of the growing ache in her belly.
She leans forward, her neck and shoulders stiff from having slept leaning against the cave's wall. Her muscles ache as she forces movement in her limbs, the soreness from yesterday lingering unwelcomly. Rain no longer drizzles outside the mouth of the cave, the sun bright and shining. Its light shines on the water, reflecting off the rippling surface and onto the cave's many stalactites overhead.
Cally's attention is drawn back to food by another rumble of her stomach. Her tongue is also wanting not just for food, but also for water. Her mouth is dry and cottony from the lack of moisture, an uncomfortable feeling for sure.
Well, as neither seem to be attainable, food not being catchable in her current state of handicap and the only water available being salty, she decides on instead building a fire. Some dry warmth would be nice.
Except, there also seems to be a lack of wood as well.
No fire.
No water.
No food.
The most she could go without water is roughly three days. Guessing it's been about sixteen to twenty hours since she last ate or drank anything (breakfast before the boat trip), Cally decides she has about two days before she needs water. She has about a week before she will die of starvation, so she sets food and water aside for the time being.
It could be argued that she needs to start looking for resources now, but her current state could lead her to waste more calories and become more fatigued than if she were to wait a day.
She looks at her surroundings, her gaze settling on the rocky ground. I could make the space more comfortable... she ponders to herself.
Deciding to move her body as little as possible, as to not waste her precious calories or risk injuring herself more, Cally sits herself back down against the wall. Little by little, she picks up the rocks and tosses them aside.
She slowly clears the area of rocks, leaving just sandy, pebbly ground. This way, she won't bruise herself on the uneven ground when she sleeps. Scooting herself forward, she continues, all the way to the water, which is much farther away than it was yesterday.
This is probably due to the tide, she realizes. It was probably high tide when she feel asleep, and low tide now. The low tide has given her access to at least fifteen more feet, doubling her earlier guess in size.
After some consideration, Cally has arranged her little beach almost as if it were her home. It is a silly idea, really, but it helps her cope. Adding at least some sort of normalcy helps her to adjust with the reality that she might not survive. She can at least be comfortable while she withers away, right?
