It wasn't a storm, but it was going to become one. I felt the air swirl into spirals, threatening thunder as it drew clouds across the sky, and I ducked beneath the waves as another one crashed through, rolling me back towards the pier.

I could see you ahead, slick silver on the water, struggling to stay afloat. Of the two of us, I was the better swimmer by far, and even I was having my fair share of trouble keeping my head above water. You? You were doomed the moment the pier collapsed beneath you.

The pier knew it, too. It didn't send its debris your way, not when you needed it most. Maybe if the rotten plank had drifted past you, you might have latched onto it and been carried back to the beach when the tide next rolled in. There, maybe you would have been rushed to warmth and hidden away in a grey stone tower to watch the city pass by for the rest of your days.

But the plank came to me instead, and I sank my claws into the wood, wincing as it splintered at my touch. And I held on, too. I didn't fight its drift, didn't push it towards you as you bobbed into the distance.

I held on, and it carried me out to sea.