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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~•~
Atlas lays flat on his stomach, a pain worse than anything he has ever experienced coating the entirety of his upper body. The sand sticking to his chest and arms prevent him from moving in any direction, the tiny grains digging into his inflamed skin with every twitch of his muscles. Atlas knows this is a less than defensive position, but he can't bring himself to sit up.
Cally is currently bathing, so he couldn't follow her there anyways. This allowed him the time to relax on his own, or more accurately, wallow in his pain. This is unlike anything he has experienced before and awaits impatiently for Cally's return. He tells himself he wishes for her presence so he can once more keep an eye on her, but the truth is that he hopes she has an answer to whatever ails him.
Soon enough, he hears soft footfalls padding lightly on the sand. He releases a long held breath as Cally's slight form slips in through the flap of the tent. Her eyes immediately flick to his form, and he is startled to see them widen in horror upon seeing his body.
"I told you to come inside earlier yesterday," she accuses, kneeling by his side.
"What are you talking about?"
"Yesterday when you were working on the raft I said you should take a break and finish it tomorrow. You replied something along the lines of I know what I'm doing, but clearly I was right."
Atlas groans, letting his head fall against the sandy floor. "I don't see how that has anything to do with this... with this problem."
"You have a sunburn," Cally deadpans. "Your skin is so translucently white I'm surprised this hasn't happened before."
Atlas grunts in reply.
"Just... stay here a moment. I'll get you something."
He grunts again.
Exiting the tent, Cally shakes her head with a small chuckle. He gets points for being determined, but his stubbornness got in the way. She retrieves a small bottle of lotion kept in the chest, still forever thankful for its discovery.
When she returns, Atlas is still in a prone position. Her expression morfs into pity the longer she gazes at his red and swollen skin. He will be lucky if it doesn't blister. She kneels gingerly by his side, hesitant to begin applying the lotion.
"Is it alright if I spread this on your back?" She asks.
"Will it make it feel any better?" He replies.
"Well, yes, it will feel better afterwards, but it might hurt when I touch you."
Atlas releases a long, drawn out breath. Perhaps a little temporary pain will be worth the eventual relief. He clenches his fists into the sand, his eyes squeezing shut. "Alright," he mutters.
