The crab vanished after a long struggle: tiny legs forcing it inexorably for the shade and safety of solid rock. I blinked at the crevice it chose, breathed out, and returned my gaze to the sea. So it would live; I, too, must choose that course – but I would not hide away. I had done so for too many years; it chafed at me. My constant flight… I was too old for running, and too meek to fight. My tail lashed in agitation at my hocks. What, then? I could pinpoint no single source of my unhappiness – only knew discomfort raged like a beast in my chest.

Movement sprang to my attention: a shadow darting through periphery. Instinct conditioned long ago to such a sight drew taut my frame; stringy muscles jerked at brittle shanks of bone and I whirled, for a single instant back in Isilme, the specter of death closing its teeth over my heels at last. I did not intend to die; my melancholy fled, replaced by the vitriolic fire of adrenaline, and answering to instinct far removed from rationale thought, I levered down the full, heavy length of my horn. It was sharp with disuse: unabused and solid, keen with over a year of neglect. Sunlight would have caught the edge, in such a way; I suppose for a moment I may have seemed stronger than ever I had truly been – a soldier and not a doctor, a creature answering with teeth bared to the movement of threat.

But I was only frightened.

I saw the boy for what he truly was a moment later: merely a child, strapping with heavy blood but very young. He was not black at all, but grey: matte, dark, quick and fierce as any blade. I raised my head, my gaze appraising despite the shameful hammering of a desperate heart. In the back of my mind, I still wished to flee. Had he seen? Would he interpret my stance as a threat? I would not fight – could not, even ignoring ideology. I was far too wasted and too clumsy; breath came difficult, now and then, despite the healer’s work at my lungs. ”Boy.” I decided to speak, perhaps smoothing the misunderstanding with words – though I thought of nothing intelligent to say. I thought you were a ghost might work on an older creature, but a child? I did not wish to become a joke in the eyes of a mere boy – especially not those eyes, keen and cruel with intent as he darted after the small creatures of the beach.

”Have you nothing better to do?” I asked at last, irritation just sharp enough in my voice to imply the vague threat of authority. I was older than him, at least, and taller despite his bulk. He ought to listen – I hoped he might listen. Perhaps he would take his game elsewhere; perhaps he would at least cease the restless moving, the uncanny predatory snapping back and forth. It recalled things better left far buried in the very depths of my dark mind – old things, wounds scabbed over and not healed. I did not like his look; I did not like the roar of water in my ears, or the scent of the beach. Even the sun felt distant though it had been welcome, moments ago.