#ravaged beach

[innercherryblossomsoul2]

Please, come help me!

[noamuth]

Ravaged Beach

@tadfooled

The sun peeks over the horizon, illuminating the aftermath of the Nautiloid crash for all to see--a gory crater within a cracked shell, split in half under its own weight after hitting a small ridge, like an egg crushed under foot. Ship viscera litters the ground in a perimeter the size of a small town. Slimes and acids pool underneath, soaking into the land. Their acrid stench mixes with the scent of burnt, rubbery flesh as flames lap at the wreckage and scorch the ground, embers traveling on the breeze like seeds to sprout fires elsewhere.

The fall from the ship, somehow, had not killed Dalamus, but as he returns to consciousness and perceives the aches across his body, he almost wishes it had. Red eyes open only to squint tightly against the glare of the sky overhead. The sky is blinding, the air shimmers with heat, and his nostrils fill with the scent of smoke and cooking flesh. Suffocating. Suffocating. He needs to find shade. He needs to find... His piwafwi. Where is his piwafwi?

He turns onto his side and a whimper escapes him before he can catch it. The fall has not killed him, but his back is screaming. Every other breath forces him to cough, and pain stabs at his lower spine with each dry retch as his body rejects the fetid air. Once his lungs reluctantly acclimate, Dalamus rolls onto his stomach with a groan, then pushes himself up onto hands and knees. Even the sand reflects sunlight to stab at his eyes--how do surface dwellers get anything done when it is so fucking bright?

The sand and sun are hot against his skin, but he spots his piwafwi a few feet away, caught precariously on a chunk of debris, flapping in the wind, at risk of being lifted away at any moment. Before he can even get his feet underneath him, an ear swivels left to hone in on nearby footsteps, the sound of sand crunching under boots, and his gaze follows.

A human woman, with fair skin and hair partially tied back, walks slowly along the beach. Is she searching for survivors? For corpses to loot? For supplies? Dalamus does not know, but refuses to be an easy target. His first attempt to get his feet underneath him fails. He wobbles and falls to one knee, breath hissing through his teeth as shock travels up his spine and pulses all across his back. He burns with anger at his own weakness, as surely as his skin burns under the sun.