‘ do you remember me? ’
Her voice rubbed something in the back of his mind, the same way starfish felt under his hands and sand against the cut in his fin, the same way the seagulls cries echoed around in his mind after a particularly late night on the beach. And he wanted to remember, he did, because something there told him that it was important to, but like fog on top of the water in the early morning hours, he couldn’t seem to hold onto it. His head tipped, hair falling over his face, sticking to his face in odd places as it started to dry, nose brushing into the sand. His legs--so he was in his human form, that meant that the sand was rubbing into the nasty gash on his leg, not the one on his fin--shifted and he groaned softly, finding not only remembering hard, but just looking around. The sun was too bright and the ocean was too loud. “What h a p p e n e d?” he asked with barely more than a grunt, voice dry and rough.
