Night had long since fallen on the shores of one of The Great Sea's southwestern most isle, but it's people were denied the sleep that darkness granted all other life on the waves and lands of their known archipelago. On the southeastern hill, a lone house was illuminated, the inner space filled with the small number that lived and toiled on Outset Island. They all stood, but two; The house's main occupants, a young blond teenager named Aryll and her ailing grandmother.
Aryll's grandmother had seen her health decline for the better part of six months, and tonight, it seemed, she'd gotten a whole lot worse. She lay among her soft bedding, her tender head nestled on her goose down pillow and it was only the constant rising and falling of her chest that indicated any sort of life. Aryll withdrew the small white fabric that had been resting on the older woman's head, she dipped it into a basin of cool water and placed it, once again, on her progenitor's forehead. The old woman shuddered.
Sue-Belle, a woman that had become like Aryll's older sister, moved about the kitchen attempting to fix a calming remedy from things she'd brought over from her home. Her hands moved expertly and in a quick and sure fashion, it was inevitable that she would get this good as her own grandfather would constantly complain of aches. She poured her concoction into a small, shallow bowl, just enough to earn itself the title of a sip, and ported it over to the bed. She carefully cradled the old woman's head, touched rim to lips and slowly tipped the sweet liquid into the older one's mouth, satisfied when her throat contracted in rhythmic swallowing motions. In this action, the ragged breathing soothed itself, and her face became calm.
As the blue haired Sue-Belle took over the watch for Aryll, the young blond wandered to the kitchen. There, Rose, a heavy-set older woman whom Aryll's brother, Link, had once given a couple of pigs to, was busy boiling water. She and her husband, Abe, had been there from before the sun had set, and even now, her children were comfortably sleeping on Aryll's bed, unaware of the suffocating heaviness that filled the small home by the sea.
The support of the community was something that filled Aryll with a soft warmth and during this small break she took the time to look about her. Chairs had been pulled up next to the bed, some had been brought over from other houses, some belonged to this home, but it didn't matter, they were here to comfort the sixteen year old at a critical time in her short life. Mesa, a brunette man that lived on the far side of the isle, was seated closest to the kitchen side of the room, the house, of course, wasn't large enough to allow the commodity of walls to separate it into predesignated sections. Abe sat to Mesa's left, followed by Rose's empty seat. Orca and Sturgeon, Sue-Belle's great-uncle and grandfather respectively, had been there earlier but had retired to their home, as sleep was something they didn't care to elude, especially when they others were already here.
Among them all, Aryll was happy, or...Almost happy. Her older brother, Link, wasn't here on this endless night. He, who's visits from his quest to find a new, larger land grew less and less, was gone from her recent life. Even his correspondence was scarce...
Then, the old woman let out a long, anguished moan, and all attention was on her, all previous thoughts cast out into the chill midnight air. Her wrinkled old body stiffened, she inhaled and exhaled in jagged rapid ways. Her eyes clenched and she hissed and then...She was silent. She was still. She was limp.
"Grandma...?" Aryll's heart leaped to her throat, but the old woman didn't stir, even the gentle rise and fall from her chest that everyone in the room had been watching diligently was absent.
That night, Aryll cried for the first time in a long time. She cried until she was sure her eyeballs could produce no more tears, and then, in the silence of Rose's home, where she was to spend the night, she cried into her pillow, careful not to wake the children who'd been carried over, nor their parents, who'd been so kind to her.