The resounding slap of wet leather against a rock echoed off the shoreline’s trees, followed by a groan that dwindled to a cough. 

“You okay?” One half of the sopping pair of boys that had just drug themselves from a debris filled ocean, questioned the other. Jade green eyes watched his crouched crewmate as he pulled back his vest, bundling and beginning to wring the saltwater from it. 

“What the fuck do you think, Carver?” The second, Yale, practically snapped, watching the water seep from the fabric and drip to the sand his entirety had already soaked. 

Carver leaned forward and let both hands ruffle his hair, a spray of water flinging out as he did. The effect was pleasing enough that he elected to take a more aggressive approach and, much like a dog, shook his head in hopes of drying himself. He whipped himself upright, black hair flinging back only to be brushed into place by his fingers as he did. “Don’t bitch,” he said through a surprisingly content sigh as he looked out over the floating remnants of their ship. “At least we survived. The same can’t be said for the others.” 

Yale shook out his vest once before pulling it back onto his bare, tanned and freckled shoulders. Running a hand down his arm, he shifted to follow Carver’s gaze, annoyance draining into some neutral sorrow. It only took a second to bring back up that previous demeanor. “I’m not sure that’s even a good thing right now.” 

A thick brow arched as Carver looked down at him, his arms crossed over his chest. 

His question was clear enough that Yale didn’t force him to verbalize it before responding. “Well, correct me if I’m wrong, but water doesn’t usually rise up on it’s own out of absolutely nowhere and completely blow ships to pieces, now does it?” 

Skepticism narrowed Carver’s eyes, head cocking to the side. “No, guess not, huh?” 

“Yeah, so that’d mean something here’s probably not so friendly,” Yale pulled himself to his feet, making a fruitless effort to dust sand from his pants. “And now we’re stuck on an island with it. No other ships are out there, so it’s either in the water going to kill any help we can get, or it’s on the island and just gonna directly kill us.” He swiped his water-logged leather bound book, what was now his only possession, from the rock he’d tossed it onto, and after one more glance back to the ocean, turned toward the treeline. An order made its way to the tip of his tongue, intent on telling Carver that they should at least try to survive, but it was quickly bitten back as some rustling in the trees decided to inform him they might not be allowed that privilege. 

Branches moving could have been an indication of wind- something easy. Leaves swaying, the same. But the thumps of footsteps and snapping of leaves and twigs, they were hard to ignore and deny, leaving the pair tense. Weapons had been lost all except a dagger tied to Carver’s hip, which had been drawn the moment Yale took a step forward and froze upon noticing the sounds. What he intended to do with it, he wasn’t sure. If it was the thing that had so easily taken out their ship and all their crewmates, his knife couldn’t very well cut water, but he’d be damned if he was just going to surrender. He’d at least look like he was going to fight. 

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Yale sidestepped as the sound halted somewhere just in the shade he couldn’t see. The instinct to hide was moving his body, but his mind was quick to stop him with the reminder that he didn’t know where to go. He didn’t know where was safe, nor did he know the layout of this land in the least. He hadn’t even gotten a good look at the beach, so preoccupied with the possibilities of getting chased down by whatever it was that had caused this. 

Another side step and once again, he paused. A girl stepped into the sand, looking passed them to the ocean, then between the two of them. Her grip tightened on the helve of a hatchet as she studied the both of them, the color of her eyes very near that of the sea at their backs. 

And then just like that, their presence was disregarded. Her gaze flicked back up to the knife wielding one, not an ounce of fear in her expression toward his weapon of choice. “Where’s the hag?” She called out. 

A glance was cast between Carver and Yale, Carver’s dagger lowering only an inch in his confusion. “The hag?” he called back. 

“Yes, the hag!” She snapped with impatience. “You came off that ship, didn’t you?” The hatchet held out, it’s polished silver glinting in Venat’s light. 

“Yes, but there was no hag on the ship with us,” Yale said. Carver nodded to back this statement. 

“No, you idiots, the hag is the thing that destroyed the ship!” she said with a huff. “It was the water, wasn’t it?” 

In unison, the boys replied “yeah”, and the girl nodded. 

“Then yeah, it was the stupid hag, now did you see her or not?” 

Once again, they looked to one another, both shrugging with uncertainty before replying “no”. 

The hatchet lowered, her shoulders slumping as she rolled her eyes. Her words weren’t spoken loud enough for them to hear, but Yale read lips well enough to know it wasn’t anything kind that had come out. She swiveled on her heel with every intention of retreating into the treeline again, but only took a step forward before a small squeak of surprise left her.

Labored breaths left a figure that emerged, a hand reaching out to grip her shoulder. The density of the trees obscured him only for a moment, as when the girl withdrew with surprise, he followed, revealing himself to be a mass of fat and muscle. With ease, he swooped the girl into a hug. 

“What did I tell you about leaving the walls, Alice?” He scolded as he gripped her close, one hand in her golden hair while the other rested across her shoulders. 

“I’m fine, dad,” Alice assured, wiggling to wedge her free hand between them so she could try and break from his grasp. 

He was silent for a moment, crushing her with one last squeeze before releasing, his hand finding its way to her wrist. “But you wouldn’t have been if Ross was still here.” 

Her mouth opened with a retort, but it was hushed as her father noticed the two looking on with confusion. Warily, he drew his daughter behind him, causing her to stumble a few steps while she turned to look out. It didn’t take much to figure out where they came from. Bruised, beaten, wet, with an ocean of wood and waterlogged supplies behind them, anyone could deduce that they were survivors.

“You came from the ship,” her father called, nodding passed to point with his chin. As they confirmed this, he went silent for a moment before calling “come on, get away from the water. It’s not safe.”