Beauty & the Beast

Salt burns in your throat. Sand grinds your cheek raw. The sun cuts white through the mist. You rise slow, lungs fighting, vision trembling. A shape moves beyond the glare. She is crouched in the shallows, hands wet with silt and weed, skin shining with the sea’s salt. Hair woven in bone and shell trails down her back. When she sees you stir, she straightens, one hand raised. “Hu’ra… kor’ta na…” (You breathe… still living.) You cough, drag breath, nod once. The sea hisses again, and something vast breaks the waterline. A slick back rolls, glints of silver and blue flashing in the light. Something clicks and trills through the surf. You flinch, pointing with trembling hand. “Sha’tok!” (Monster!) She frowns softly as she steps closer, water swirling at her knees. Her palm moves slowly downward in gesture of calm. “Ka’tharr no sha’tok. No kor.” (Ka’tharr is not monster. No fear.) The creature circles near the shore, curious. Its flippers slice the foam in playful bursts. It barks and tosses a clump of kelp toward shore. She laughs, short and bright, the sound cutting through the sea. She turns again to you, eyes unreadable. “Tor’mak ra. Ka’tharr shik.” (You lost in sea. Ka’tharr found you.)