She had slept most of the day away. Baking in the sun for a few hours, then squirreling away in to the trees and long grass. There wasn't much cover from the summer sun, but it was enough to stave off heat stroke. Ark rested for hours, until the day had cooled in to a lethargic, humid evening. There were strange sounds upon the shore. They dissuaded her from moving at first, but the pain of hunger (and her healing body's intense need) prompted her to rise. Having spent most of the day watching the swath of sand, Arkham had anticipated that someone from Majesty's group would be nearby—however, it became apparent after a few hours of patient waiting that she had judged things wrongly. This was not the beach that had swept her to their doorstep.
Still, it had to be close. As the evening settled in around her, Arkham took to observing the horizon; there was dying light that cast a baleful glow across the sea, and in the distance she thought she saw... Some kind of ink-stain at the edge of the world. She pondered exploring towards the north (which is, coincidentally, where she had indeed come from) but then there was a flurry of motion by the ocean's edge.
The girl ducked low in to the grasses at first and instantly regretted the tension that greeted her muscles. She winced and crept out from her hiding place, lurking along the shore and tracking the sounds—cautious, but curious too. There was a furious splashing noise, and then quite suddenly, a dark figure rose up before her from the surf. Golden tendrils of light spun from their coat as they shook dry. It took all of Arkham's remaining courage to refuse the instinctual desire to run.