1st, Fall, 514 AV
Algol crawled up on soft pale sand, soaked, cold, and disoriented. He heaved involuntarily, throwing up a lungful of icy seawater before collapsing in an exhausted heap. His white hair was plastered to his head and hanging limply in his eyes, making his world dark. With clumsy fingers he clawed it away, trying to clear his field of vision. After a few attempts he finally caught a glimpse of his new reality. He wasn't quite sure what he was seeing yet, but it made his insides tighten and coil like snakes. The Ethaefal's cheek lay pressed to the cold sand, and he looked at the world from an angle.
The beach stretched on for a while, like a white road leading him to a dark blob in the distance, nestled at the base of hunched mountains. There were lights scattered in the distance, some wavering and moving. He must have watched for a long time, because some would disappear and others burst into life. A bell rang far off down the beach, slow chimes that sounded harsh in their high staccato.
The bell was long silent again by the time Algol crawled to his feet, naked in the pale moonlight. He looked around slowly, spinning in place and taking in his surroundings. There was the ocean, dark and still aside from the rhythmic waves crawling up the shore. They beat down on the sand and washed up high--almost to his toes, then retreated with a heavy sigh. In the other direction was complete darkness. Trees grew tall and imposing in the night, devouring what light there was as they climbed up to the peaks of the mountains above.
Where am I? The question frightened him for he had not even the beginnings of an answer, and when he looked up at the crescent moon riding high in the sky, he felt alone.
Calm yourself, he soothed silently and took a slow, deep breath.
He had taken account of his surroundings, and now his observations finally found home. Algol lifted his hands up and examined them in the moonlight. Long pale fingers, long pale arms. His eyes went down. Long pale body. He touched his chest and his belly, his legs, and felt what parts of his back that he could reach. Every chime that went by his unease mounted, and he tried to focus on breathing. It was instinct--something long ago ingrained into physical beings that he fell back into now like a long-time habit.
When his fingers touched his face, they were shaking. With pursed lips the Ethaefal felt his wet hair, and when the base of two horns brushed his skin, he flinched. It took him a long moment to muster his courage and grasp them both firmly in his fists. They were long and solid, arcing back above his ears and curling gently at their sharp ends. Impossibly smooth and strangely warm, through in a different way than the rest of his body.
Algol looked around as if there were someone nearby who had the answers, but he was completely alone. With a quiet whimper he sat back down on the sand, legs folded up clumsily and hands still grasping his long horns. He keened softly to himself, trying to battle the grief swelling in his breast. The wind whispered a hint to him, an idea of what had happened--of what he'd lost, but he couldn't comprehend it. Not yet. But still he mourned there on the sand, shivering with the cold of the sea and the costal breeze on his naked, newborn skin.
