To the shore

You descend the tree. Seeing you safe, Brigette lets out a relieved sigh as you hop down the final branch to land in a crouch. You straighten and retrieve the sword of the saint. “There are a few opportunities,” you say as you strap the weapon back upon your waist. “The shore should prove our greatest chance. Ships often go along it, and one of them would be quick to take us to Gerlangen.”

Brigette frowns with uncertainty. “But…I heard there are creatures along the shores. Wugs and others. Not to mention pirates. Are you…sure, Sabine?”

There is a moment of doubt at those words, coming from Brigette they make a great deal of sense, but the desire to show yourself dependable overrules it. “Yes. The navy usually deals with the wugs before they can establish themselves. We should be fine until we find a ship.”

Brigette still looks uncertain, but accedes to your decision. It pains you to know she is unhappy, but you must do what you think is best. Together you forge through the forest and towards the cliffs.

It isn’t a far walk, for the abbey was on the cliffs and you both had walked largely parallel to it. You stop when you reach the raw and sudden edge of the cliffs, the boom of the surf crashing against the rocks heavy like the forbidding roll of distant thunder. You shy from the edge, as sheer as if it had been sliced by a sword. You lead Brigette along the edge until you find a rough path carved into the side of the cliff’s face. Gone are the soft greens of the forest floor. Chill sea wind buffets you both as you make your way down, punishing you for every step you take.

You reach the sands exhausted. The shore winds and clings to the jutting cliffs, vanishing along the irregular coast, jagged like the blade of a saw. Two pegs just from the sands, another pair further on reveal the last remains of an ancient dock. The sight sends a trill of fear through you.

“Sabine. Are you well?” your sister asks. “You look a little green.”

You touch your face self-consciously. “No. I feel fine.” You look at your hands. They do have a slight greenish tint to them. Perhaps the sea air really does not agree with you, though you do not feel sick. You push the matter aside. So long as you may walk, you shall. “Let’s hurry. Perhaps we can find a boat or something.”

Waves pummel the stones and soak your white robes to your skin with salt water, bringing with it a miserable chill. You both walk a fair distance, but as the sun begins to set, setting the ocean ablaze with fire like it was made of magma, you decide it best to search for somewhere to rest.

Salvation comes in the form of an isolated cove far along the shore. It recedes into the cliffs like a pocket of calm in the roaring sea. High stones break the pummeling waves and hide the sanctuary from the sea, leaving a calm pool in the sheltered inlet. To the rear, behind the sandy shore, lies a collection of rocks that climb like steps, hiding the rest of the cove behind them. As you draw near the pool you see it rich in fish which had been cast inside by the heedless waves and now cannot escape, swimming in a forest of thick, obscuring sea weed.

Looking around at such a picturesque scene you decide that you have found an ideal place to spend the night. Brigette agrees quite heartily.

“Feeling hungry yet?” she asks playfully and hefts a milky teat.

You drool at the sight and return a smile of your own. “Maybe soon. Try catching some of those fish. I’ll see if I can find some driftwood for a fire.”

“Don’t make me wait,” the green sister teases, her green eyes deep and meaningful. “I’m very full just now.” You blush and scamper away, laughing down the golden shore like you haven’t since you were a girl.

You walk some distance to find enough dry kindling. Gathering it in your arms, you find it somewhat difficult with your sizeable bust and end up sandwiching them beneath your heavy breasts and your arms. You sigh longingly at the thought of your meal tonight and hasten back towards the cove.

On returning you see Birgette. Or, rather, a most prominent part of her. She is squatting before a small pool of water among the step-like rocks, no doubt watching intently a fish trapped within a pool. In such a position her hips flare out for maximum effect, the rounded green skin of her shapely buttocks flaring out to show their palm filling curves. You smile and raise your hand to wave, and your greeting dies in your throat.

Something is watching Brigette.

It is on a higher piece of stone, crouching like a toad, its bulbous eyes are fixed on the distracted woman, its large mouth parted slightly in lust. Its flesh shines with mucus, a vicious looking fin growing from its tapered head to run down its spine. Its pale belly rises and falls slowly and heavily as it watches the magnificent green woman work. Its fin is flushed red and the spines rigid with its arousal.

A sea wug.

Fear trills through you. Your eeyes shoot about the now menacing shore. Sea wugs never work alone, unless they are outcasts from their tribe. They are dangerous in packs, but equally so on their own should they get the drop on the unwary, for they possess a certain feral cunning beyond mere animals, some even being able to speak the tongue of men. You have heard of them, of course. How they raid ships and sea side villages, taking woman and dragging them to their lairs, using them as incubators for their young. A senior paladin once spoke to you all on having raided one of their camps, and finding the women within, less than human, little more than chattel for the creatures. Apparently, during their raid, some of the women even tried to defend the wretched monsters. None of those rescued could go back to a normal life when recovered.

As quietly as you can you put down the pieces of driftwood. You consider your sword but dismiss it as too bulky and pick up the heftiest of the sticks. Your glances about the rocks see no more wugs. Perhaps it is indeed a loner, or perhaps a scout, sent ahead, and others are among the rocks. There is only one chance. You must take the creature down with a single blow.

Quietly, slowly, you creep along the shore and to the rocks. With your club in hand, you begin to carefully scale the slippery stones behind the wug, praying to the goddess that he remains enthralled by Brigette for a little while longer.