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A large shadow moved through the dark waters. The shadow was long, it's tail swishing through the water up and down as shining bubbles floated up from it's mouth. Soon, the shadow became a shape as it swam into warmer light-filled waters, scaring away a school of shimmering silver fish. The shape was that of a young male mer, his dark blue hair, the same color as his tail that shimmered in the light, flowed around his delicate almost femanine features. The bangs on the left side of his head were longer than the rest, partially consealing a pink scarring that extended from over his eyebrow down to the base of his ear over his eye, the vision of which was lost long ago, and remained scarred shut. The gills on either side of his neck filtered the air out of the water, and flowing blue fins floated behind them underneath his pointed ears set with pearl earrings. His upper torso was thin and pale, covered by an open flowing white shirt with a black strip over the top. His tail was unlike most mer that he had met. It was a brilliant blue and purple in color, reminicient of tropical fish that often inhabited the warm waters around the Reef. The fins were delicate and tore easily, so they flowed around him in the currents, shifting like fabric or moss. Two more keepsakes from the 'accident' from when he was little could be found on his left side, just under his ribcage, and on the left side of the top of his tail. Both scars were light in color, and looked as if the skin and scales had been scraped away.

Corbin swam slowly, not in any hurry, one of his hands lightly gripping the bag that hung around his shoulder, feeling the hard shape of his flute and the few treasures within it that he had found. The string of colorful stone and the metal pendant around his neck clicked together as he increased his speed, a soft smile on his usually cold face. The Song Weaver wondered breifly how long it had been since he had been at the Reef...well over a year. He had swam the oceans, spending some time with the Selkies, whom were more family to him than any Mer. He usually wasn't the social type, but any interaction was desired right now. It was this desire that drove him from the depths of the seas to where the Mer congregated.

From the shadowy waters of the south, out came a red figure of a mermaid swimming towards the infamous gathering place that had set firmly between the north, south, east, and west. Although she wasn't much for being social, her job as a trader had left her tired from her ordeals of travelling thousands of miles in opposite direction to sell and trade whatever items she had on her at the moment.

Once Arlenae came into view, her light red skin was very noticeable, even so with her dark red hair flowing behind her. Gold jewelry adorned her skin as if she was important. Her tail was a bit longer than the normal, but she didn't mind at all. Swimming into the gathering place, she looked around at the structure of the reef with its quaint corals and the underwater life that had lived there despite the merpeople's visitings. Her hand came to her bag that she carries around with her; originally founding it from a beach somewhere in the east.

Giggling lightly as she swam through a family of clown fish, she tickled one and left it swimming askewed as it was merely a baby, not an adult. Oh how she loves the creatures around here, they're so friendly and fun to play with; tag and it was the common play games down here. They had so many places to hide that it was silly to even know them all. Arlenae though likes to work hard and play hard, as it was her motto; swimming over to a flat rock, she settled down and whipped her tail around, gathering it into a circle as she rummages through her bag for what she need to sell.

(( I have permission to post! Corbin's interacting. ))

The drift of the sea was nothing new to this log. It had traveled through the oceans many times over, through thick fog, bright sun, or pouring rain alike. It had crossed hundreds of miles of current along the trade routes, and had outrun pirates. Earlier in its existence, it had even raced another for sport. But that had been when the log was part of a ship. Now, it was solely a piece of debris, resting quietly on the ocean's surface, miles away from where it had departed company with its fellows. But that log wasn't alone. It carried an ungainly quasi-tangle of arms, head, and torso. Said items belonged to a youth that couldn't have been more than perhaps 13.
The boy's right hand was hanging limp and nearly-lifeless into the cool green-blue water. His left held tightly to the log, or something on it. His blonde hair was caked with salt and dried blood, the ends trailing like golden thread. The arms were draped over the driftwood as though it were the supporting limbs of a best friend. The rest of his body was submerged, and it didn't take a genius to figure out that he was completely unconscious. The reason why was pretty evident too, judging from the dried blood matting his hair just to the right of the back of his skull. He had been clunked by something, and passed out, presumably a while ago, seeing as most of that blood had dried. His wounds were not physically visible from the surface, but the red plumes beneath the waves were more than enough to show for it. It was a wonder he hadn't been eaten by sharks on his way here, floating with the flotsam and jetsam along with the tide.
He was dressed rather simply, in a tattered, loose white shirt, and ragged brown leggings, with no shoes. In his hands, or rather, under his arms, was a fairly large sword that he must have pulled off his doomed ship before it sank. It was positioned in such a way that it balanced, and did not fall off of the log. What's more, his left hand was firmly clasped across the hilt, as though he had fallen unconscious while holding it. Other than the sword, nothing seemed strange about him. He appeared to be just any other average drowned human being. Aside from one small fact... He was breathing. Barely. But this piece of refuse from the storm's rage was still alive. And might yet be kept alive.

The lad made no move of protest. He was more than warm - he was hot. Feverish and delirious. He wasn't hard to carry. Too thin - probably had been low on rations before his ship wrecked. His eyelids creased as he was moved, as though he were trying to wake up. But he could not beat back the darkness or the heat, and wound up right back on square one. He tried again, this time, making a feeble move to lift the sword with his hand. Unfortunately, it was too heavy for him in this state, and on top of that his body didn't seem to want to obey his brain. That venture was forgotten as well as the waves caressed his skin, starting to lull him again into dreamless oblivion.
A well-trained sailor or pirate knows that with a head-wound you are supposed to try and keep yourself awake, or you may never wake up again. However, this boy did not. He had not the formal training of a surgeon, nor the instruction of a scholar. But thirteen years of age, and already on a grand adventure. He had a lot to learn about the open seas, and the creatures that lived in and on them. But first, he had to get his body to wake up. It didn't look like that was happening any time soon.
The raft hitting the sand didn't wake the boy either. That wound on his head was nasty, and would render him senseless until he was forced awake.
Deep in the recesses of his thoughts, the boy was dreaming.
He was lying in a tangle of seaweed in the ocean, rising and falling with the waves, gently. His mother was calling to him, and his father was laughing somewhere. But he strangely didn't seem to find it important. His eyes kept catching a glimpse of shiny scales and soft hair, but he couldn't place what it was. The dream shifted, and the Sweet Mary was once again under his feet. He was in his mother's arms, and his father was trying to paint him with his brand new sword. He'd just graduated from a wooden one. But then, the seas started getting rough, and he was tossed from side to side in that room like an angry child throws a toy. Then, there was nothing but screaming in his dream. That too faded - into endless silence and darkness.
Unknown to him, tears formed in the corner of his left eye, and rolled down his cheek as he floated. But that was the only motion from him.

Deep into his dark dreams, there penetrated something so soothing - but yet at the same time overwhelming, lively, and wakeful - that he had to open his eyes to see what it was. Coming face-to-face with a creature of the deep was not what he had expected. He was surprised, but too weak to do anything about it. His eyes only half-opened at that, and started to close again even as he tried to keep awake, struggling to move a part of his body, and only meeting resistance for his efforts.
That gash in his head was a lot less serious, and a lot less of a threat, to his body than was the fever that raged through him unabated. His mind kept telling him to wake up. So he kept waking up. Then sinking back into oblivion. And again. The cycle was repeated too many times for the child to keep count, fading into and out of consciousness like one long nightmare. His blood was burning his brain, as tended to be the case with high fevers. He needed to be cooled down. The water, and the shade from the boy's tail was a welcome relief, and helped to alleviate the very worst of the fever. The salt-water stung horribly, but helped to cleanse and numb the wounds. The sand felt good beneath him, and made it easier to take his mind off his injuries for the time being. He didn't have much else to keep his mind focused on.
His eyes closed again for the fifth time shortly after that thought left him, and did not open again. He slumped back into the fin, going completely limp. His hand finally lost its grip on that sword of his, and he was forced to let go as the nerves went slack along with the rest of his body.

He was a little cooler now, a little less likely to spiral into the dark realm. His breathing was a little deeper, and much slower and stronger. Still not one-hundred percent, but there was only so much one could recover in such a short amount of time, and after losing all that blood. But now, he was able to open his eyes, and keep them open - with a little effort, of course. He tried to decipher his surroundings, but his vision was still a great deal less than perfect. Trying to get up to help whoever was coming towards him was a futile venture, for his limbs still refused to obey his commands. And apparently, his voice refused to obey his thought. He meant to call out a word of greeting, but instead, his strongest desire at that moment made itself known.

"W....water.... Water...."

He opened his parched mouth, and smacked his lips a few times, running his tongue over them, and feeling the sores from dried skin having pulled away from the rest of the tissue.

"Water....."

He murmured again. His vision was getting worse. Dehydration tended to do that to a person. Then again, there was the fact that he wasn't exactly healthy at the moment. He was drying, but it was a slow process. His hair still looked like lumps of dirty straw, and there was still fresh blood on quite a few parts of his body. It wasn't that he didn't feel them.. it was that he didn't care about his wounds. Right now, all he cared about was getting some of that precious water.... Water.... It sounded SO good right now. His tongue ran over his dry lips again. Good... Cool... Refreshing water would be just the ticket to get him up and out of here. That wasn't quite true, but the boy could think whatever he wanted to.

His eyes started to drift shut again after he'd had some water, and was feeling slightly less like he wanted to walk into the open arms of Death herself. He smiled, sighed, and settled back into a relaxed state. At the mer-person's words, he snapped his head up - not a good idea. Dizziness overwhelmed his balance like a trainwreck overwhelms the sight. He slumped forward in the sand, and caught himself on his forearms. However, he couldn't bring himself to move from there. His eyes closed again from having been open in surprise, and he sighed. That triggered a coughing fit that wound up with him curled up on the beach.

"D...damn..." he murmured quietly. "Wh...what is...wrong... with me..."

He certainly didn't feel like he was ok. His head was spinning, his limbs almost too heavy to move, and his chest felt like it was on fire. He knew the part about his chest, and why, but the rest of it sort of scared and confused him. What had happened? Where was his mom? Where did dad go? What happened to his brother and sisters? Where in the world WAS he?