Wheeling Gull Isle Jetsam

"Child," he spoke softly, deeply, after the young one's voice broke through the beach. A voice of rust, as if the sea had eroded his vocals.

God's gift..God's gift.. So close. He spoke with no knowledge of sight, surroundings or thought. He simply knew there was a gift nearby, a pure one from the oceans who found him. A pure one who must not be so close, he knew, and yet he did not, that there was the danger of the seas.

From then, he spoke no more until a holy voice came and broke him from the deep sleep that continued to pull at his mind. A gentle pressure on his shoulder, and a touch of one's breath. A gasp is taken from his lips as his head turns and swivels, his eyes wincing and rolling behind his lids as his nose forced out seawater. Before his eyes opened, he offered her his voice. "Miss." Inhale, exhale. Inhale, exhale. Far from stable, and physically the ocean had done as it would to him, but mentally, he found soundness. In knowing that fate came, and brought him to her and land. "You are gracious."