longer.blue

The storm, and whatever manner of beast it had heralded, had long since gone, but the cries of the dying had only just stopped. His mind was overwhelmed, and he long ago might have passed out if not for their cries keeping him awake, but now with the sea now gently swaying the pitiful debris he clung to, Oliver’s mind began to drift off. A dark silhouette beneath the waves weaved through the wrecked ship towards him. It was the last thing his tired eyes focused on before they sealed shut. It was a miracle that he awoke at all, still limply draped over the ruined mast, and he thanked God for it. Oliver did in fact attempt to thank him out loud, but as his voice was beyond hoarse, he hoped the Lord might accept a silent prayer of thanks in this specific instance. Hopefully it would reach God and not whatever terrible demon that had created that thing from the storm.