Blackwater Islands It all falls into the sea.

It was like looking through water at a distant sunrise; drowning, but seeking that shine desperately, knowing that to break through the surface meant breath, warmth, life.

His eye blinked slowly. The more he tried to hold on to the tendrils of consciousness the faster they slipped away. . .

The dream came; light bending like a heron's neck, a shadow rushing across the sea like a storm gathering, tendrils become spires become the risen hackles of a beast - an ink black sea stretches endlessly in to oblivion.

Asleep with her warmth tucked close, he no longer trembled. His nightmare shifts endlessly through incongruity, yet he is at peace.