It was said among the people of the Thousand Islands that the sea did not give gifts—it only returned what it had failed to swallow. Whenever the tide left behind driftwood, broken masts, or bloated corpses, they were left for the birds or offered to the fish-headed gods. Living strangers were rarer still, and far more dangerous.

Nara had wandered the rocky shoreline at low tide, keeping well away from the water itself. Between black stones and tangled kelp lay what appeared to be another body, half-buried in wet sand. Curious despite herself, she crept closer, circling cautiously but never letting her feet touch the surf.

Then the corpse coughed.

She sprang backward with startling speed, landing in a crouch. Every muscle tensed. Her lips peeled back to reveal filed teeth as the stranger groaned and struggled onto an elbow. Nara hissed violently, snatched up a jagged stone in one hand, and brandished a bone knife in the other, pacing sideways like a cornered wildcat. The man tried weakly to raise a hand in peace, only making her snarl louder.

"Stay down!"

Another sharp hiss escaped her.

"Don't move! Don't come closer!"

All her threats meant nothing to the man as her language was unknown, yet that thought never mattered to her. She bared her teeth again, eyes darting between the stranger and the village beyond the cliffs, ready to scream for the others—or defend herself if he took even one more step toward her.