he woke up alone on the shore of an unfamiliar beach.
at first, he thought the canoe had washed ashore, but a quick glance showed it dragged onto the sand, tracks showing the path it’d been pulled. the oars lay neatly crossed over each other, rope looping through them and keeping them in place.
there was no recollection of how he got here, and blood rushed in his ears as he listened to the surf. honestly, it could’ve been his heartbeat, could’ve been the pounding ocean. the sea was wild today, foam-topped waves crashing onto the previous one as fast as they formed.
sitting up, his shoulder cracked; his knuckles were still sore from the oars. must’ve been deliberate, then, that he got here – these familiar pains didn’t come from accidentally rowing the seas.
try though he might, he could only remember vaguely solid determination.