The Beach

The fog hung low over the muddy beach. Crabs, recently dislodged from their hiding places, scuttled about. Waves crashed on the rain soaked shore line. Something moaned.

Storms don’t stay long in this land. They approach with trepidation, drop what they’ve brought, then pass on as quickly as possible. There are many theories as to why this is. Some say it is because the gods have willed it to be. Others believe the land to be protected by ancestral spirits. Still others maintain that it is because of the ancient curse of barometrics. Whatever the case, the last storm was no exception. Something went bump.

The gull didn’t know what it had hit; only that suddenly it was on the beach in a slight daze. It ruffled its feathers, got up on its feet, checked its jaw for any permanent damage, and was crushed by a large dingy. Four men stepped out, rattled by the fact that the dingy had just come to an abrupt stop on land, and a bird, but not water as they had hoped.
A quick survey of the area confirmed their fears. They were shipwrecked.