Gilded Bay It's the fire it ignites

His apparently lifeless form moved closer to the shore with each rushing wave before finally gliding to a stop in the wet sand. White foam still periodically spread around him as wave after wave dissipated against his umber body. Each breath was shallow and ragged and pulled particles of water into his already battered throat and lungs. Had he been aware, he might have moved farther from the water, but he had finally lost consciousness sometime ago, succumbing to the dehydration and exhaustion that came from days of being tossed around the unforgiving sea. 

Even now, when he remained a heap on the unknown shore, he didn't so much as stir. Nor did he wake as the caustic ocean water entered his nose repeatedly, slowly scalding the sensitive membrane lining the inside of his nostrils. He was probably too far gone at this point; a body can only take so much, even a strong one like his own. Eventually, it was all just too much, and from the way his barely breathing form lie motionless in the sand, it seemed he had asked too much of his body this time.