Blackwater Islands breathe it in

Whip saw her from the cliffs; the woman birthed from the ocean herself. He had heard talk of her arrival, yet he had not yet seen her, as she had been too weak to leave the medical ward. Galateia, they called her. To say the least, Whip was curious of her situation, but he did not intrude. No, he waited for her to reveal herself. After a few days, that she did. From where Whip watched, she was simply a brilliant white splotch against the rocky coastline, guided to the sea and left unaccompanied by her assisiting siren. As she returned to the Mother's embrace, Whip left the cliffs behind to make his way toward the beach.

When Whip finally had a better view, he saw beauty beyond compare. She was weak, but there was elegance in her frailty. He stopped and watched, starting dumbly on the beach for a moment as the waves broke over her. She stumbled forward, and Whip then thought to offer assistance. He approached, wading into knee-deep water. "Do you -- Do you need any help?" he asked.