Love is a strange thing. On one hand, it is a treasure, able to unite even the most aggressive of foes. On the other, it can be a weapon, able to break a person to pieces with such force as to be almost inhuman. There are those who seek it, those who shun it, those who accept it, and those who have given up on it. Love is like a mighty oak tree – it grows and grows, to the point where ignorance is impossible, branching out in many different directions. And though it has the potential for greatness, it starts out small and insignificant. But an effort must be made to help it grow – sometimes, only so much will happen naturally.

-Goldsand Beach-

The sea breeze ruffled the dampened hair of a sixteen-year-old boy, as he clung to what remained of his makeshift wooden raft, which was little more than a few pieces of driftwood tied hastily together with waterlogged rope. With the shore of an island but a few metres way, he clung to the ramshackle craft, and allowed himself only to pass out when he had dragged his entire body onto the sand.

The area in which he had washed up was a stretch of sand warmed by the golden sun, which hung amidst a cloudless azure sky. The sea lapped gently against the shore, the sound of it doing so mixing with the occasional cry of a seagull, and the pained groans of the new arrival. It seemed he had washed up onto the shore, unconscious and damp, but alive. In what seemed like a second stroke of blind luck, a dog rushed up to him, and started barking furiously, grabbing his mistress' attention almost immediately. It was evident that this was a tame dog, as the collar reading "Rover" clearly showed.

"Rover, I told you, no chasing after crabs! They'll pinch you if you're not… Careful… Rover, that's a human, isn't it? He's not awake, is he?"

In what could be seen as an almost human reply, Rover whimpered, and nudged the sea-smelling hair of his find. "Oh God, what do I do… Check he's still breathing? That's a start. Safety position? I guess. Err… You wait here when I've done that, I'll get help!"

After following the necessary procedure (mouth-to-mouth not included), the girl dashed off to find someone who knew what to do – she was sure there was at least one person who knew what to do in the event of finding someone washed up and waterlogged. The boy himself was tall for his age – not considerably so, but n amount noticeable nonetheless. He was by no means scrawny but his build was not up to hard, physical labour, or anything requiring excessive physical exertion. Hair as black as naturally possible covered his head, cut at a medium length, though the back reached a quarter of the way down his neck. Due to his eyes being closed, their colour was indeterminable to the person who had found him, but it mattered little to her. His dark grey t-shirt and black jeans had been ripped and soaked from his trials at sea, his shoes having long since been swept away. All in all, he was in a sorry state.

-Clinic-

"Urf… Where am I…?"

Having been transported to the clinic's bed, it was only natural that the new environment was questioned. At his bedside was a young woman with short black hair, but that was all he could make out at that point in time. His vision was blurred, his head was pounding, and the insufficient food he had eaten on his days spent adrift had left him with a raging stomach ache. He had not even the strength to lift his head, let alone sit up or focus.

"You're in the clinic. Don't move, I'll get the doctor, he'll explain things for you… Doctor Grey, the patient's up!"

"Is he now? I suppose I should talk to him, then."

"That would be wise, sir."
"Look Liz, I've told you, enough with the formal talk. Just call me Derek, everyone does."

Despite his initial concerns, the doctor did indeed look professional. Wearing a crisp white shirt and black formal trousers, he looked every inch the doctor, and this was only amplified by the flowing physician's robe. Aside from his smartly-combed black hair and rectangular glasses, there was little he could make out. "You must be tired; I and Elizabeth can both see it. If you need rest, take it."
"I'm fine, just a little groggy…"

"Are you sure? It's our job to keep you intact, you know."

"I'm fine, really."
"If you insist… I'm not sure, but I'll give you the benefit of the doubt. Anyhow, long story short, you were found face-down on the beach by Alice, our local farm girl. She was walking her dog, came across you, and she had us get a stretcher out for you. From the looks of things, even if you had been awake, you wouldn't have even been able to get up, let alone walk all the way into the village."

Turning away, the boy sighed. He knew this to be true, but he was more of an independent person – he considered accepting help shameful. "By the way son, what's your name?"
"James Harrison."

"Age?"

"Sixteen."

"I see. So, James, could you tell us why you were floating about like that? How exactly did you end up here?"
"My ship capsized, I fell off before I could get into a lifeboat, and I ended up clinging to driftwood once the ocean had carried me away."

"I see… You must be starving…."

"I'm more tired, than anything else."

"Then sleep."

"Can't. I'm a light sleeper. I couldn't even if I wanted to."

"Well, whatever. If you can't sleep yet, do it when you can. I've got some paperwork to take care of, but in the meantime, you have a visitor. Liz, show her in, would you?"

"On it."

But, just as soon as Elizabeth had departed, the guest in question burst in, a cheery look spread like butter over her face. She looked to be James' age, and was built quite healthily – though of average height, her lack of muscle tone betrayed her innate physical strength. Her hair fell down to round a quarter of the way down her back, tied in a ponytail, and was a honey-blonde colour. Her eyes were the colour of sapphires, and seemed to sparkle in a similar fashion, though it was more to do with the energy of youth than anything else. The sleeves on her crimson shirt had been rolled up to the elbow, but her knee-length denim shorts needed no such treatment. Her footwear of choice was a pair of mud-brown hiking boots – durable and reliable, exactly what was needed.

"Doctor, doctor, I think I'm a curtain!"

"Alice, please stop with the jokes, I've heard them all before, and the punchline to that's 'pull yourself together.'"

"But I thought of a new one…"
"Fine, let's hear it…"

The doctor seemed to grimace at the thought of this, and also seemed to be bracing himself – James refused to remain anything other than stoic.

"Anyway… The new line is… You must be blinds!"

If there had been any crickets in the room, even they would not have interrupted the awkward silence that plagued the room's occupants so. "So… Um… That guy in the bed… He's alright?"
"I don't think he's eaten for a while, and he seems dehydrated, but it's nothing a day or two of recuperation won't aid."

"Oh, that's a relief… You looked awful when I found you, but luckily, you're a tough cookie! You didn't even need mouth-to mouth."

Oh thank God… thought James, his facial expression masking the horror he felt at what could have been. "I thank you for saving me out there. I've been in a rough state for a while now, as you can see."

"I did see. Your clothes were ripped and soggy, you've got stubble growing, and you smell like sea. No offence."

"None taken."

"Say, can I ask you something?"

"Yes, what is it?"

"About your eyes-"

"They're red because I was apparently born with some sort of deformity that I inherited. Is that a problem?"
"No, it's just that-"

"Good. No further comment."