Page 8 of X'nath

I was already scanning the water again. There had to be more survivors. The wreck had to have been much larger than what we were seeing now. But the moonlight barely illuminated the expanse of the water, making it hard to tell how far the wreckage stretched.

“Look!” Karg shouted, pointing to the edge of the wreckage. Another figure was barely visible, clinging to what looked like a broken spar.

The men immediately surged toward it, some grumbling about the cold but pushing forward nonetheless. The sounds of splashing filled the air as we gathered the survivors from the wreckage, our hearts pounding, our breaths shallow as we worked to pull them from the water.

As I reached the second figure, I felt a strange sense of urgency—this was more than just a raid now. These people had survived something, something that had torn their ship apart. And now, we were their only hope.

We managed to bring five women to the shore, their faces a mix of exhaustion and disbelief. Their clothes were soaked, their hair tangled and clinging to their faces, but they were alive. And that was more than I could say for most of the wreckage.

Greag was the first to speak after we pulled the last survivor onto the shore. His voice was sharp, practical, like it alwayswas when things got serious. "Alright, someone start a fire! And get those leaves—anything to give us shelter from the night air. These women need warmth, and we can't afford to lose any more." His eyes swept over the group, taking in the damage, calculating. "Korrin, you’re on fire duty. Vakgar, grab some leaves. The rest of you—keep your eyes peeled. We’re not alone out here."

The men quickly split up, working in the darkness. Korrin began gathering dry wood from the scattered debris along the shore, while Vakgar scouted the surrounding trees for leaves big enough to shield us from the chill of the night air.

The women huddled together on the shore, their eyes wide and filled with fear, but there was also a strange sense of relief that hung in the air as the men began to build a fire. They weren’t out of danger yet, but they were alive. I stood close by, watching them, my mind still reeling from the wreckage we’d found. They must have been through hell.

“How did it happen?” I asked, kneeling beside one of the women as she shivered uncontrollably. Her blonde hair clung to her face, her body trembling in the cold. She looked up at me, her eyes wide with fear. But when I spoke again, she shook her head and scooted back a little, unsure of our intention.

I tried again, but her face only twisted in confusion. It wasn’t just the exhaustion—she didn’t understand me.

I glanced over at the others, realization dawning. Not all of us spoke the human tongue fluently, and I wasn’t sure how much of it these women would know, especially after being through whatever they had endured.

Greag, standing off to the side, grumbled and muttered to himself, clearly trying to piece something together in his mind. “This isn’t good. We don’t have much of a clue how to talk to them.”

Vakgar, who had picked up some words from previous raids on human trading ships, scratched his chin and nodded. “I know a few phrases. Should be enough, right?”

The five women appeared to be around the same age, except for one who observed us with a wary expression. There was a certain maturity to her that set her apart from the others, as though she had lived through more despite still appearing to be of breeding age. The blonde woman’s eyes flickered to her, perhaps seeking guidance or reassurance. It was clear that the older woman understood us better than the rest.

“Maybe start with simple words,” Korrin suggested, his voice low. “You know, like ‘food,’ ‘water,’ ‘help.’ We have to keep it basic until we figure it out.”

I nodded, turning back to the blonde woman, trying again with a slower, more deliberate approach. "Food?" I said, miming the action of eating. "Water?"

The woman blinked, then glanced at the others, and finally, to the older one, who seemed to be processing the attempt. After a moment of silence, she slowly nodded, perhaps recognizing what I was asking.

I repeated, “Food. Water.”

The blonde woman responded, her voice soft but clearer now, as if understanding the gesture. “Water... please,” she whispered, her voice hoarse. She didn’t seem as frightened now, but there was still wariness in her eyes.

I gave a nod and motioned toward the men, signaling for someone to fetch one of the water bladders they had thrown on the shore before diving in. As Korrin moved to gather what we had, the older woman stepped closer to the group, her gaze focused on me and the others. She hadn’t said a word yet, but her eyes were sharp, and her stance was that of someone who had seen much and trusted little.

“Storm,” the blonde woman spoke again, barely above a whisper. “It came... storm... and then... something attacked. I... I don't know...” Her voice trailed off, and she closed her eyes, as if the memory was too much to bear.

I clenched my jaw. There was something behind her words—something she was still holding back. But the older woman moved again, placing a hand on the younger woman's shoulder, a protective gesture that spoke volumes. She gave me a look that was as cold as the water itself, her eyes narrowing.

The men murmured among themselves, still uncertain. Vakgar finally broke the silence. “What if we just took them back to the camp, fed them, and tried again later?” He motioned toward the women. “No sense pushing them too hard when they’re this spent.”

I watched the fire flicker in the distance, the warmth of it calling to us. “Agreed,” I said. “Let’s get them settled and make sure they’re safe.”

As the group began to organize the camp, some of the men spoke quietly among themselves, trying to piece together whatever human words they could remember. "Boat," Korrin muttered, holding his hands like a ship’s wheel. "Maybe... she knows about a ship?"

“Let’s hope she knows more than she’s letting on,” Greag said, rubbing his forehead. “I’m not about to go diving into the sea again or fighting any more damn monsters without answers.”

The women might have survived the storm and skaevin, but the night felt far from over.

5

The Weight of Survival

GRACIE THORN

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