The pale gold colour of the sand; the blue-green of the ocean; all in all, a scene of beauty; a scene of peace. Except for one thing - the figure on the beach. The man lay on the edge of the shore. The waves lapping over the lower part of his body; his head and torso nestled by the sand. Lids were closed over green orbs; brown hair lay matted on the forehead; rusty remnants of blood marred the pale skin. It would not have been folly to mistake him for dead. Until one was close enough to see the rise and fall of his chest; steady, but not as strong as would allow relief. There was still some life within the male. He had not given up yet.
Still - what had occurred to allow a body to be washed up on the shore in such a manner? It was evident that some misfortune had befallen him.
