[Amanaduial the archer]

Callath lay on his left side, his arms and legs sprawled although he lay as though asleep. The sun beat down unheeded on the side of the face and limbs of a body that seemed far older by the scars ad bruises now on it; the scar running slanted over one eyebrow, covered by a few wet strands of hair, the wide, dark bruise high on one cheek, fingers and arms marked with petty cuts and, of course, the bloody wreck made of the back of his right hand... And yet, the boy looked more young and peaceful as he lay on the shore, as if asleep, than he had done in many weeks.

Feeling something brush his face, sharp, pricklings points with a drag of a sharp edge, Callath awoke suddenly with a loud gasp, grabbing in one hand whatever first came to it as he scrambled back. A second later though, he winced and, with another gasp now of pain, he fell back onto his hands as searing pain shot through his right. Clutching it with the other hand, he looked around wild-eyed for whatever had touched him...and saw his attacker, there on the sand before him, looking at him as if he was quite mad.

A crab. Little pincer-like feet and one broken leg dragging, the serated edge sharp...

Closing his eyes, Callath groaned and, despite his situation, he grinned a little. But his hand meant his respite did not last long and, as another stab of pain shot through it as he moved the fingers, he winced a little and examined it gingerly. The seawater had cleaned it a little, but...

Things suddenly flooded back to Callath:

The panic-stricken cries and yells as the boat veered again and a sickening crunch sounded from beneath, a prolonged, downed-out dragging noise - the ship's bottom hitting and sliding along the shallow bottom. Callath stood unsteadily, stumbling over to the door of the hold. He had been beaten for his troubles earlier, the same pirate coming back to jeer and challenge him to a fight while he couldn't fight back. Around him now, the Gondorians were up to their knees in water already as it flooded in through cracks in the walls, cracks that were now turning to gashes through which water was pouring in.

Callath was knocked to the floor as another sudden movement sent several men stumbling into him and he floundered, panic-stricken, for a few seconds...when he got up, the bolt had been broken, he didn't know how, and he darted out of it as quickly as possible. Looking back, shaking his head and blinking against the sharp, stinging salt-water in his eyes, he looked for Devon...Calnan...Telson...Luc (who he hadn't seen since mid-battle)...Sedal....

Another sailor shoved him out of the way as he stood blocking the door, all of them now desperate to get out of the sinking ship. Hopelessly, Callath was pushed with them, lingering for as long as possible before he too had to follow.

Reaching the deck...a reverberating, stinging blow across the side of the head...falling, half-sideways, half-backwards, through the air...something wrapped around his feet, pulling him down...

Touching the side of his head gingerly, Callath did indeed find the place where what must have been a falling sail or piece of mast had struck him, knocking him overboard. And as for what had wrapped around his ankle: one of the rat-lines maybe, if the mast had fallen? All he had remembered at the time had been the sheer panic...

"Don't move," a cold voice commanded. "Gondorian or corsair?"

Callath looked up sharply, ignoring the command, his vivid green eyes taking in a man a few years older than himself, his trousers cut off at the knees and seaweed still adorning one shoulder. However, one detail was rather more vital: he was holding a sword. Callath suddenly felt angry: they were on a beach, the gods only knew where, not a ship - this man could not command him now! Common sense didn't seem to feature much in this logic but Callath struggled back up to a sitting position, pushing the wet, straggled strands of darkened blonde hair from his eyes.

"Do I look like a bloody corsair to you, mate?" he replied tersely.

The man seemed to visibly relax and held out his right hand to pull Callath up. The stable boy eyed it for a second then smiled wryly, holding his limp right hand stiffly in explanation as he got to his feet himself. "Best not, thanks..."

Glancing around, Callath saw several other figures on the beach: there were about a dozen as far as he could see, but the beach curved quite sharply and there could be more. Several were obviously Gondorian, but...the stable boy stiffened and he reached once more for his absent sword. "Corsairs!" he hissed at the other. The man nodded grimly. "Mainly dead, but aye, they were stranded with the rest of us."

Callath looked back once again to his new companion, squinting against the sun, then bent a little to remove with some difficulty one boot to pour out the water and worrying amount of debris that had become caught in it. "Are Devon and Cal-" he stopped. He didn't think he really recognise this man, why would he know the names of his friends? "Sorry, can I ask your name?"