Tindalma stirred.  Sand blown on a chill wind stung her bare cheek.  She twisted away from the watery sun streaming through her closed eyes, the sandy ground scraping her forehead.  Dizziness swept over her, followed by a wave of nausea.

Bitter cold water rolled over her feet, sending her lurching forward to drag herself out of the way of the waves reaching up to lap at her toes.  As the foaming sea water receded, she rolled to one side, blinking and dazed.  Where in Westernesse was she? 

To her left, the beach stretched on and on for miles, grainy sand the color of stone. The sea spanned ahead of her, the surface pitted and dented by choppy waves. On her right... Tindalma craned her neck to take in the height of the cliff rising abruptly from the sea, its jagged top silhouetted against the overcast sky.  The waters churned at its base. The waves and tides seemed to create a powerful undertow there.  Surely a death trap for any ship unfortunate enough to pass too close-  The thought died as the events of the past few days returned to her.

Tindalma bolted upright, struggling to shake off the dizziness caused by the sharp motion as she staggered to her feet.  The ship was gone, that much was certain.  The memory of the groan and snap as the hull crushed itself to pieces between stone and sea sent a shiver down her spine. 

What happened after that was foggy. Aearion had been pulled away.  Then Faelon. She had no recollection of swimming to shore. Or even being near an open beach for that matter. Odd.

Oh, Lord Ulmo, let them be alright, she prayed silently, scanning the grey spread of sand as far as her eye could see. Nothing. She loosed a heavy sigh. Surely they were fine. Both her cousin and friend were excellent swimmers and able seaman.  It would take more that a silly storm to take them. And a shipwreck. And an undertow. Perhaps it was worse than she let herself believe. 

A shriek sounded behind her.  Tindalma whirled with a yelp of surprise, breath caught in her throat, before spying the white gull perched on a twisted piece of driftwood.  She exhaled in relief, glaring at the bird as it cocked its head, eyeing her curiously.   

"You little pest," she scolded, plopping down in the sand again to ease her aching head.  The gull only stared at her, then dropped its head to peck at a dark bit of seaweed caught between its toe and the driftwood.

She watched it for a moment, then set about shaking the sand from her clothing. It was a slow task. The gritty earth clung to the fabric and her skin and grated rather painfully when brushed off, but she barely felt it. 

Her mind was on her companions.  Every moment sitting here was a moment wasted that could've been spent searching for them.  But she was little good to them in this state, shaking all over, dizzy and weak.  They were no where that she could see, which meant there was walking to be done. 

Then there was her other problem.  The ship was gone.  There would be no recovering it.  Now that she looked, she could make out a scattering of wood across the beach that might very well have come from her beloved vessel.  She sighed softly.

Everything about the voyage had been wrong from the beginning. Crossing the Belegaer, even across the thinner northern channels should never have taken so short a time.  Then was their sheer bad luck of hitting two storms and a doldrum in a matter of days.  She's sailed for a century since the Kin-slaying encountering only a few storms and none of even half the caliber of the past two. 

Shaking her head quietly, Tindalma shrugged off the fear that threatened to crush her. Perhaps Faelon had been wrong and the wind had turned them back and wrecked them on their own coast. But perhaps...

The gull hopped back as she made a grab for its driftwood perch screeching indignantly. She stuck out her tongue and pulled the wood toward her. It beat its wings, rising an arms length from the ground and landing a few feet away, watching her warily.

She frowned at it, brushing crusted sand off her prize. "I don't have food if that's what you're looking for."

It tipped its head in answer, looking almost offended at being accused of something so petty. She shook her head slowly, breaking eye contact with the bird.

"Maybe I hit my head harder than I thought..." she muttered, glaring at the wood. Turning it over in her hands, she ran a finger down the white core, worn smooth by the sea. She picked at a shred of bark that still clung to it. Dark in color, split and bulged in places. Birch maybe? She couldn't think of any birch forests near the coast, and they had sailed that coast many times.

With a soft sigh, she tossed the wood away. The gull regarded her rather saucily, then waddled over to reclaim its perch. She chewed her lip quietly, watching.

"You seem pretty tame for a wild bird," she mused. It looked up sharply at her voice. "Does that mean people live near by?"

It tipped its head, fixing her with an expectant gaze.

She narrowed her eyes. "Not really sure what I was hoping for there. Little beggar." For a moment, she half expected to hear Aearion's irritating voice quipping something snarky about her choice of conversation partner, but heard nothing. Shaking her head, she stood tentatively. Her legs stayed steady, and the world spun only slightly. Enough to keep her feet beneath her.

With a deep breath, she started out, away from the cliffs. From behind, the gull set to crying. The high pitched wails echoed off the towering stones as it took to flight, soaring over her head and away down the beach.

She watched it go, riding the brisk wind until it was nothing but a speck against the white sky. It glided as effortlessly as she had on the back of the swan ship, friends beside her. But this gull was alone. And so was she. The idea that Aearion and Faelon might actually be... lost at sea kept creeping in, no matter how much she denied it.

All the years in Alqualondë as children trying to determine the meaning of the word 'grief' had been spent together. Tindalma could scarcely remember a time when Aearion hadn't been waiting at her door when she woke up from nightmares.

Curse it all. She ground her teeth together, driving away the unwelcome memories. She would find them. Even if she had to swim the entire sea to drag them out of Mandos herself.

A chill wind whipped around her, raising goosebumps on her bare arms. It was colder here than she was accustomed to. Alqualondë seemed locked in the permanent warmth of summer. They must have come much further north than they intended.

The cry of the gull sounded overhead. She raised a hand to shield her eyes from the glare of the pale clouds. Certainly it was a different gull. She hadn't even seen the first come back. But there it was, circling overhead.

She stopped, resting one hand on her hip. "You are quite a persistent little thing, aren't you-" she cut herself off with a gasp, as her eyes snagged on a figure cresting the windswept peak of a sand dune. He was followed by a second, then a third. They stood a moment on the rise, then one of them seemed to catch sight of her. He waved to his companions and they began making their way down the side of the dune toward her.

Slowly, she turned to look up at the bird, but it was gone. She turned a circle, searching for it, but it was no where to be found.

With a shake of her head, she turned away and started toward the three figures.

"Hail, stranger!" one called as they neared. She stopped, hesitant to come closer. His words were Telerin, but with a tinge of an accent she wasn't familiar with.

"Hello."

Within ten feet of her now, she could see they were clearly Eldar folk, flaxen haired and tall, all male. The speaker was different, stronger bodied and dark headed, with the sharper cut features more noticeable in the Noldor kindred.

"May I ask how you ended up on our humble beach? I have never seen you around these parts before."  Again, his accent caught her by surprise.  The language seemed to line up with the Telerin she'd learned as a child, but there were slight variations in the words he spoke.  Some she didn't recognize at all, but could make out the roots and general meaning. 

"I am from Alqualondë. I was shipwrecked on the cliffs down the beach with my two companions."

Tindalma caught the look of confusion on his face, the moment of pause trying to decipher her words.  She tried tried again, this time in Quenya, "Have you found my companions?" 

At that, the lighter haired elves seemed startled, eyeing her with hostility now.  The speaker hesitated a moment, glancing back at them guiltily, then answered in the same tongue.  "You speak Quenya, my lady?"  His friends' accusatory gazes shifted now to him. 

"I do," she said, relieve that he understood her.  "I come from Alqualondë, and was shipwrecked against the coast with my two companions.  Tell me, have you found them?" 

He arched a brow in surprise. "Wrecked against the cliffs?" The two behind him exchanged glances. "No, we haven't found them. We saw your ship last night, but could do nothing to help. Tell me, lady, how did you escape death in such a terrible storm?"

"I don't know. I woke up on the shore and don't remember swimming there. Where do the currents flow that would've carried my companions out?"

He looked down with a sigh. "May I ask your name?" he asked, voice heavy.  Tindalma could practically feel her heart sinking.

"I am Tindalma Sandawen," she said raising her chin. "Who are you?"

"Veryan, of Eglarest," he replied with a bow. "I wish we could've met under better circumstances."

She nodded agreement, silent as his face grew more serious and he took a step toward her.

"Tindalma," he began seriously, "I am glad you are alive. The cliffs are treacherous, and the waters beneath them deep. Some say it is where the Lord Ulmo took Tol Eressëa from the land to ferry the early mariners across the sea. It claims mariners still."

Swallowing hard, she looked down, ignoring the familiar nagging pain of loss, ever present as it had always been.

"Few who are unfortunate enough to pass those cliffs make it to shore. You are one of those few. And we will do everything we can to find your friends."

"Thank you," she said quietly, eyes fixed numbly on her bare feet. It was quiet for a moment, the only sounds the roll of the waves on the shore and the crying of a distant bird. Tindalma drew a deep breath and raised her head. "May I ask where I have landed?"

He gave her a faint smile. "The coast of Falas, near the port, Eglarest. Tindalma of Alqualondë, I welcome you to Beleriand."