He had never seen the ocean before. He’d heard of it from his mother’s tales and both the Fae and mortal travelers who passed through the forest, but he’d never been more than a day’s travel beyond the bounds of the vast woodland where his foster family lived. Not until a few days ago had he seen it for the first time, and the sight of it had beggared his imagination.
It still did, as he sat on a large rock that peeked from the jungle on the edge of the sand, watching the waves roll in and then back out again. Arms wrapped around his legs, knees drawn up to his chin, he sat still except for the slight rise and fall of his breath. A pungent odor from a plant he had rubbed on his hands and face kept the bloodsuckers away, but while his brown and green hunting leathers blended into the foliage the clothing was out of place for this climate and region.
For this world.
One moment he had been leaving the Grove to go hunting for some conies for dinner, the next he had been walking through a jungle that bore no resemblance to his home, the trees and plants he knew so well there vanished without a trace. This alien place had confused and frightened him at first, but he was beginning to get his bearings. Eventually he knew he’d have to go into the town – the port, was it called? – to trade for proper food and information, but he was delaying that inevitability as long as he could, anxious at the strange people he had seen, and their strange ways.
For the time being he simply watched, tucked in on himself and hoping – maybe, just a little – that someone would come find him first.
It still did, as he sat on a large rock that peeked from the jungle on the edge of the sand, watching the waves roll in and then back out again. Arms wrapped around his legs, knees drawn up to his chin, he sat still except for the slight rise and fall of his breath. A pungent odor from a plant he had rubbed on his hands and face kept the bloodsuckers away, but while his brown and green hunting leathers blended into the foliage the clothing was out of place for this climate and region.
For this world.
One moment he had been leaving the Grove to go hunting for some conies for dinner, the next he had been walking through a jungle that bore no resemblance to his home, the trees and plants he knew so well there vanished without a trace. This alien place had confused and frightened him at first, but he was beginning to get his bearings. Eventually he knew he’d have to go into the town – the port, was it called? – to trade for proper food and information, but he was delaying that inevitability as long as he could, anxious at the strange people he had seen, and their strange ways.
For the time being he simply watched, tucked in on himself and hoping – maybe, just a little – that someone would come find him first.
