He drifted for a long time. Days, perhaps, though consciousness was only an occasional companion. He knew the sun, relentless and oppressive, and sometimes the stars. He once heard the stirrings of some great beast beneath his little raft of debris, but hadn't the energy to react.
Consciousness surfaced once more in the night. The now-familiar swaying of the sea was gone, leaving a heaving in his belly, unaccustomed to stillness. He could feel the cool of the night, though his eyes were crusted shut. Sand at his back, in his clothes, seemingly in his mouth.
He opened his eyes, and the stars above spun wildly. He shut them again, rolled over and heaved the nothing from his guts.
"You'll need more water," came a voice, male-seeming and quivering with age. "And food when you can."
He panted through the end of his spasm, fell back on his shoulders. He wanted to move his mouth, ask questions, but instead he drifted away again.
Quil warmed his hands at the fire, glancing over at the sleeping man. Not a young man, by any means, more of middling years. His face was lightly pocked, likely from a bout of spots in his youth. The nose was heavy, arching low over a thin mouth hidden by the scraggle of beard. Quil could tell the man was used to shaving both face and head, but stubble stood heavy upon his pate.
The paleness of the man's complexion told Quil he likely came from across the water. Not a common thing, but sometimes ships will wreck too far out, and drift will wash upon the beach.
It's not often that drift breathes, though, Quil chuckled quietly into the salty breeze.
The man woke again, and this time was able to sit up. He extricated himself from beneath a makeshift shelter, made of a ratty cloak and some sticks. Nearby, a driftwood campfire smoked its last, and before him, beach and sea. The sun was high in the sky, but seemed dimmed by a haze.
He looked behind him. Whoever dragged him here had set up camp near the edge of the beach. Just a few steps away loomed tall brown grass, obscuring whatever land lay beyond. From the position of the sun, he knew that land would not be his home. The sea on the north of him told him that, right enough.
Just as he was turning away from the grass, an old man's face emerged from above it. Gray, bearded and dark of skin, the man was thin and a little stooped. He stopped when he saw that his charge was awake.
"Welcome back to the place of the living," he said.
