At the surface of ocean, the waves were calm. The stranger and I took air cautiously, making our way to a hidden cove. There was nothing moving in the surrounding waters--no sign of life aside from my rescuer and me--but it wouldn't be that way forever.
"We need a plan."
My rescuer prodded my arm gingerly. "What we need is to patch you up."
I looked at the dark red liquid oozing down my arm and a chill ran down my spine. It was my first real glimpse of myself, and I was beaten and mangled... A brief sense of embarrassment overwhelmed me as I gazed beneath the water at my golden legs, decorated with rings of blue made pale by lack of circulation. There were welts were the vines had dug into my skin.
"I'm Paz," he said after a long silence.
"Nita."
"First we should stop the bleeding in that arm... I think the rest will work itself out in time." Paz surveyed my arm. "How do you feel? Any dizziness?"
"I'm ok," and I was, at least I thought I was; it was hard to concentrate on anything other than the stabbing pain in my arm. Holding it above the water was painful, but the salt stung like thousands of wasps.
He pulled off one of his shirts and wrapped it around my arm tightly. I cringed at the added salt water, but tried not to flinch; he was right, we had to stop the bleeding. "How did this happen?" he asked.
"The war," I murmured. It was then that the pain and the weight of sadness overcame me. I was no longer weightless; I was solid, heavy, and chained to a world were the price of hope was blood. "It's began."
