For a long time, Sam thought he was dead, or at least dying. His memory was garbled, full of shouts and breaking timbers and freezing water, and when he'd finally blacked out, he had been sure he was dead. Now, though, he was shivering-- did one shiver when one was dead?-- and the world had grown still again. Wherever he was, heaven, hell, or somewhere else entirely, it was cold, and wet, and windy.

Samuel opened his eyes. Sandy brown below and heavy gray above met his slightly blurred vision-- or, more accurately, sandy brown on the right and heavy gray on his left. He blinked, and his eyes focused: a beach, littered with bits of wood, and an overcast sky. He lay on his stomach, head looking off to his left, and water was rushing gently up around his knees, then pulling back again, leaving him even colder than before. His long body shuddered and he drew his legs up away from the waves, bringing his arms beneath him and levering himself partly off the ground.

It was then they everything started to hurt. With a voiceless groan, Sam relaxed back down again, the aborted attempt at getting up aggravating bruises he only just realized he had. His bones felt bruised. Even his short, tightly curled hair, full of sand and salt, felt bruised. His clothes, wet and torn, probably ruined, clung to him and made him feel even colder. Nothing seemed broken, but it all hurt, anyway. No, this was not death. Sam was very much alive; somehow, he had survived the horrible shipwreck, and had washed ashore on a beach miraculously free of rocks, with nothing worse to show from it than bruises.

And he was not alone in that miracle. A yelp, from a familiar voice, made Sam start and somehow make it onto his hands and knees, though he almost regretted it once he got there and his whole body ached so much that he couldn't move any further. At least he was up, though, and he could see his brother laying sprawled on his back, quite awake, protesting vehemently and warding his face with his hands as something large and burnished bronze poked at him with its broad muzzle. Sam stared in shock and amazement at their good fortune.

It was a dragon!

"Dammit, stop-- you bloody animal, cut it-- gah!" Cath finally succeeded in escaping from the hopeful ministrations of the young bronze dragon, but his whole body hurt from the effort after the hellish ride through the storm. Glaring at the beast, he shivered and tugged his still-sopping tunic back up onto his shoulder-- it had ripped badly in several places, and was likely in danger of falling to pieces, but it was all he had to recover what little dignity he could after having been woken by a dragon, of all things.

The dragon, obviously sensing a lack of enthusiasm on Cath's part, waddled over to Sam and nuzzled him worriedly. Sam, not party to Cath's annoyance, smiled shakily and accepted the touch, more enthusiastically when the dragon let him use its neck for support so he could get unsteadily to his feet. Cath looked over the beach, shivering still as the wind on his wet clothes and hair made him feel even colder now that he wasn't protected on at least one side of his body by sand, picking out the shapes of wood ruined and tossed up by the storm-- bits of his ship, his own Windchaser, smashed beyond repair. There were no more bodies, so either the rest of the crew had not survived, or they had found their ways to other shores. Cath would miss a couple of them, and hoped they had made it to somewhere safer than the far ocean or the treacherous rocks, but mostly it was his ship he mourned.

::Come, up.:: The demanding mind-voice wasn't his brother's, and Cath bristled as the dragon nudged his back, between his shoulder blades. ::I will help you.::

"I don't need yer help!" Cath growled, shoving the proffered nose away. He ignored Sam's reproachful look and levered himself to his feet, pridefully ignoring the weakness of his left ankle, which might have been sprained, and the pounding of his head.

::As you will,:: the dragon answered with admiral politeness in the face of Cath's rudeness. ::But you will take ill if you stay out here much longer. Come, my Specus is near, and my partner is coming.::

Of course. Where there was a dragon, there had to be a rider. Cath sighed and rubbed at his temples, which were still throbbing as if he had Vere's worst hangover. He was irritable, he knew that, and mostly because he hurt and he'd just lost his ship and her entire crew, not because he really had anything against their rescuer, or dragons in general. They were good beasts, with good hearts, they just-- brought back bad memories, that was all.

With one of his characteristic mood swings, Cath lifted his head from his hands and burst into a grin. "All righ', dragon, we'll come. Could use some dry clothes an a nice fire, righ', brother?" The larger of the pair had made his way slowly to Cath's side, hopeful anticipation written all over him, and Cath clapped a hand on his back, drawing winces from both, as Sam's back hurt and Cath's arm didn't like the jarring motion, but then a smile from Sam and a trademark reckless grin from Cath. Sam nodded a few times, stopped with an expression that made one guess he had regretted it-- if he had the same killer headache Cath had, Cath could understand that sentiment-- then looked expectantly at the dragon, whose jeweled eyes were fixed on the pair.

::Good, come, it isn't far.::

And the dragon led the way up the beach, letting Samuel and Cath limp along behind it.