Monument's surface was positively buzzing with life. The sky was dappled with pinks and blues, and a light breeze ruffled the leaves of the trees. The breeze carried on its gusts the cries of several Rykes, calling to each other from across the land. It was chilly, and the water's surface rippled with the force of the draft. The goosereeds stood tall and proud, with their heads unbent, at the base of the towering structure rising from the still water. A small streambed flowed from the top of the structure and ran between the goosereeds's roots. In every direction, the still water stretched to the horizon. An ocean, of sorts – upon closer inspection, perhaps a lake. To the east was a small ridge poking toward the sky, heavily shrouded by mist. A day's walk, perhaps. However, at the center of this lake stood an imposing obelisk. It rose tall, perhaps a hundred feet or more – two poles that shot up straight and curved to meet each other at the top. In the middle was a loose latticework, decorated with occasional stained glass or painting. It was a striking white, like it had just been built. At the bottom was a rock, with a plaque on it. To the left was a smaller, simpler version of the stele. That was it – the first Monument. The plaque read, in bold lettering:

Welcome to Monument. Do not be afraid, you are safe here. We have chosen this planet for your well-being and
population. You are to discover the reason for your being here by solving seven puzzles. The solution to the
first lies in this riddle:
I have no eyes but I have a head. I do not sleep but I share my bed.
When winter strikes I cannot die, and my silver colors cannot lie.
Uproot me to uncover the key to find the way across the sea.

A small distance away from the monument, the water began to churn. A sharp, gritty whistle emerged from just beneath the waters surface, and the whole sea rumbled gently. The rykes stopped calling, and for a moment, everything was deathly still, leaning in to see what the Still Sea had to offer from its churning depths. Slowly, five singularities rose from the water. As the water poured off each of them, it became clear that they were boxes – approximately seven by three, sealed across the middle, and with absolutely no markings on them whatsoever. Once the boxes were elevated above the water's surface, the whistling and rumbling stopped. Nothing happened for a long while. The rykes did not call. The breeze had stopped, as if it was holding its breath for the arrival of the strange boxes.

When she woke up, she felt her head pounding madly, as if she hadn't been breathing. She gasped, gulping in air desperately and painfully. Briefly, she wondered if she was dead. As her heart settled, her surroundings came into focus – that is to say, she noticed she was in a box. If she had been herself, she would have wondered if it were a coffin. However, all she could do was press her hands to the lid – at first, gently; then with a panicked fervor that left her pounding at it with her palms and beginning to suffocate again. Primal instinct drove her, and nothing more. She didn't know where she was, or how she got there. All she wanted was out, out, OUT –––

With a hiss, the box's lid slid open. Bright light spilled in, and she took a sharp breath, covering her eyes to the light. When she sat up, it took her a moment to adjust to the view. Water? Water.. It took a few seconds for everything to sink in – the fact that she didn't remember anything; that when she opened her mouth, no words would come out; that she was in a coffin, surrounded by an ocean. Abruptly, tears sprung to her eyes and welled over. In the eerie silence of the Still Sea, the first noises were the gentle sobs of her first witness.

Slowly, the young woman rose out of her sleep state into consciousness. The first thing she noticed was that she was breathing, but shallowly, and it wasn't giving her much relief, like the air was empty of oxygen. She opened her eyes to nothing. Confused, she closed them and opened them again--still, she could not see anything. She reached out a hand above her and didn't get far until a smooth surface stopped her. Frowning, she took both hands to the surface to explore it, feeling for its edges. She discovered she was in some sort of box. Having solved the problem of where she was, she started to panic over how to get out. She repeatedly pounded both hands hard against the surface of the box, and was soon rewarded with a mechanical wheeze as the apparent lid split itself somewhere near her abdomen and began to slide open. She squinted her eyes against the growing light and waited impatiently for the box open wide enough for her to sit up from her supine position.

Bolting upright as soon as she was able, the girl began to look wildly around her, taking in the vast water surrounding her waking coffin. She stared in disbelief. Water was all she could see, except for a huge, blinding white structure immediately to her right. She looked up, but whether from the sheer height of the thing or from her position so near its base, she could only barely see the top. It appeared to be some kind of narrow arc with a criss-cross of beams, dotted with stained glass and other artwork, taking up the space between the two pillars. Looking down again, she spied a small plaque set on a rock at the base of one pillar. She found she could not read the plaque, even though she could see its large letters perfectly. At a similar spot on the other side, she saw a miniature version of the structure. She did not know what to make of it.

She decided to next inspect the water. Looking over the edge of her box, she stared into the water's depths. The surface was strangely opaque, so she reached a hand tentatively to touch it. The water was warm, so she pushed her arm in as far as it would go. No bottom revealed itself to her searching fingers, and, dismayed, she pulled her wet arm back into the box with her.

Despite herself, she felt her eyes spilling over and an involuntary sob escaped her. She tried to say her feelings aloud, to verbalize the utter bewilderment and fear she felt at waking up this way, completely alone and, apparently, having come back from the dead. But no words would come. She moaned a slow "huh", but somehow knew this was not a true word. Her voice was high-pitched and a little thready from disuse. More tears ran down her cheeks, and she hunched forward, hugging herself tightly. The girl began sobbing in earnest, and so she did not notice the second hiss of another box releasing its occupant to the drenched, alien world.

The crust in the man's eyes sealed them shut for the first few moments of his consciousness. In any other circumstances he would have found it rather disgusting, but the more pressing matter on his mind was that he didn't remember falling asleep. He gasped and started breathing faster now, but was met with only the staleness of his breath rebounding from a nearby surface. An enclosed space. The man's arms were weak as he brought them up to his face, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. He opened them, but was only greeted with a marginally lighter reception. Pushing his hands out, slowly, he met the warm touch of some sort of box. The texture was glossed and smooth, like...like? Even in his subconscious the man could not think of a description for the surface. Panic bloomed in him. Where was he? Who was he? Was he going to die? Is this how it ended? He tried to think about everyone who he'd never get to say goodbye to, and was met with no one. He had forgotten.

The panic was quickly replaced with sorrow. What was the point? The man lay, murmuring gibberish to himself, as defeatism replaced the air in the vessel. This was how it ended. A quiet part of the man reasoned that if he had no one to lament his loss, it wasn't a true loss. He didn't waste time dwelling on it. He raised his hand to his face, seeing but a faint outline of it. He became suddenly very focussed on the tracing of his hand, moving it towards and away from his face. Perhaps it was his deliriousness. Moving his hand far enough away from his face made it graze the upper surface of the box--a sudden hiss sliced a sliver of light through the darkness. It grew, blinding the man for a second. He arose, and felt a cool wind on his neck.

He rubbed his face and the rest of the scene came into view -the man was seemingly floating in a large body of deep, blue water. To his left, a huge ivory structure soared into the distance, scraping the sky itself. The man stood, stretching his arms as if he could capture the apex in his hand. Unfortunately for him, this was not possible. The swiftness of his movement coupled with the weakness of his legs sent him crashing down into the water, sending a spray of it into the air. The pit of his stomach lurched--he almost expected a great fall--but was surprised to find himself caught by the skin of the water. A wry smile crept onto his face as he reclined and stretched out in the water, basking in the glow of the sun. He almost felt peaceful like this, despite the fact he couldn't remember himself or where he was. That worry seemed to shrink away - if he was going to die he might as well do it with a little bit of dignity. What he failed to realise, however, was that he was far from dead--and that he wasn't entirely alone.

Consciousness came slowly to him at first, but soon surged like a tidal wave through his body. His eyes shot open, yet the poor soul couldn't see a thing. He forgot to breathe as the darkness seemed to solidify around him, and he lost hope quickly. He was doomed to exist in his nightmare indefinitely, and fear wouldn't let him escape. There was nothing he could do, nowhere to run, and he was frozen there. Without the strength to move, he decided to accept it. This is where he would live and die.

He closed his teary eyes and laid in silence and fear there for an unknown amount of time, until he heard a muffled noise resembling a splash. Shocked, he wondered if there was more past the darkness. Feeling around him brought him to the realization that he was trapped, and needed to escape. Fear and lack of oxygen motivated him as he violently pounded against the lid until a satisfying hiss was heard.

Light and air flooded in as the lid gave way. He was eager to leave his prison, still blinded by the sudden abundance of light, but ended up folding under his own weight as quickly as he stood. He was weak, but he could pull through... He tried again, this time slowly, and managed to hold himself in a standing position. There was an admirable piece of architecture reaching for the sky, but he was preoccupied with the handful of people, who wore masks of confusion and worry just as he did. Putting forth all the strength he had, he managed to fake a smile despite his hysteria, in hopes to connect with the others.

The woman gradually drifted back to the world of the waking, slowly cracking her eyes open only to be greeted with darkness. Blinking a few times, and taking a deep breath of of stale air her mind began to become aware of her surroundings. The darkness was pressing down on her, the air starving her longs of oxygen, it sparked a sense of panic within her. It was not an explosion of fear that gripped her heart but a sense of looming dread. Wordless questions raced through her mind.

As dread pressed down on her like a crushing weight the young woman slowly moved her hand, touching the confines of the space she found herself in. As her pulse rate rose steadily her fingers too, crept slowly up the sides of the chamber until her nails scratched the ceiling of the space. It was at this moment the foreboding sense she felt became too much and the woman slammed her palms against the surface, pushing against it, trying to force it open.

Mere moments after the woman's hands pressed against the surface a hiss sounded in her ear and a crack of like appeared, quickly expanding, forcing her eyes tightly shut. She lay there for a moment, eyes closed against the light, relief flooding into her being as she filled her lungs with clean air. Eventually she opened her eyes again, this time blinking to adjust to the light, and gripped the edges of the box, pulling herself to a sitting position where she could survey the land. Her eyes were instantly drawn the the magnificent edifice that stood towering above the land, searching for the apex that seemed to pierce the heavens. It took a few moments but the woman finally managed to wrench here eyes away from the monolith and look around her. There were four other boxes floating in the water, four other lost souls with them. Raising up to a standing position she cleared her throat, attempting to attract the attention of the others, her mind drawing a blank for any other sound to make.

In the midst of her sobbing, she heard a loud, wet smack somewhere to her left, and she spun around toward the sound. She saw that another box, just like hers, had opened, and a tall, brown-skinned man had fallen into the water.

No. Not into it. On top of it. The woman blinked her teary eyes a few times to process what she was seeing. Even though she didn’t remember who she was, where she came from or even how to speak, she somehow still knew that water doesn’t behave that way. You can’t walk on water...can you?

She watched in disbelief as the man lay there, seemingly at ease with the way the water was cradling his body; much more relaxed than she would have been, having just fallen onto water. Looking around a bit more, she saw another young woman had awoken from her watery tomb. She had pale blonde, boy-short hair that suited her long, slender neck. Her face--the brunette noticed that an eye was missing and a scar marred the place it should have been. She also had strange markings on her face, covering most of the lower half. Turning back to the man on the water, the brunette noticed he, too, had markings, but totally different from the blonde’s.

A loud hiss whispered across the water, and another box opened. A white man with tousled, dark blonde hair and facial markings of his own stood steadily, with a strangely confident smile. She wondered why on earth he would be smiling at a time like this when she heard a sharp cough. The last box had opened, and a pale young woman with long dark hair was standing in her coffin. She, too, had strange, unique marks on her face.

The brunette looked down into the water to review her own face, which she had not thought to do before when she was evaluating the water’s depth. She was startled to find that she had no markings. Touching her cheek with one hand, she frowned in confusion at her reflection. She didn’t know why she was different, but as she could not speak, she doubted there was any way to find out. She decided to inspect the strange water once more. She touched its surface with a fingertip. Wet, and not at all unusual. She slid her hand in, and then back out. Still normal, as far as she could tell. Frowning harder in frustration, she brought her hand down swiftly to hit the water. Smack! Her hand made contact, but did not break the surface. She pushed down. The water was...tense, bouncy. Her eyes lit up in wonder. Amazed with her discovery, she turned to look at the four others, eyes wide with meaning.

The sun warmed his cheeks as birdsong--or the song of some small, flitting creature--created a peaceful melody in the background. The man though to himself for a short moment. If this was death, I never want to be alive! He felt himself smile, and a deep, jerking noise came out from his mouth. It sounded...familiar. There was a name for it, he recalled, but he couldn't quite get it out.

His eyes opened, and light burned in them. He hissed slightly, and pulled a hand over his face. He sat up on the skin of the water, looking around for a second time at the lake. The myriad of colours and iridescent scenes made his eyes widen in wonder. However, after seeing the four other figures looking at him, he thought his eyeballs would roll free from their sockets. He smiled, and motioned his flat palm towards them. He couldn't remember why, but it seemed a peaceful movement. Each of the four, two with long hair, two with short, looked similar--features in the same places. Their faces were scrawled on with strange, alien markings--perhaps they had some meaning? It wasn't important, he went back to his quick survey--One person in their box, while the other three stood. The man was almost a little jealous--he'd fallen straight into the water. Still, he'd never been more glad to see other forms of life before, and they were similar to him. He felt there was something he needed to do...something he needed to...say? A sound to come out of his mouth. He tried forming it, as best his foggy memory would allow. "Hurr..." the syllable drooled out of his mouth and was met with a moment of silence. A heat grew under the arms of the man. As much as he wouldn't have--or couldn't have--admitted it, he was anxious for their reply.

Mud stays low to the ground, crouching above his kill. A lesser scol paces in the shadows. The scales along its back flake and crack. Its thick skin protecting the bones of its ribs. He feels for his knife and one of the haunches of the bunny. He tears through bone and flesh and sinew, blood slick on his fingers. He pops the joint free. The scol stops. Its blue eyes cut through morning mist, cold and creeping in the depths of the forest. Leaving the mangled limb on the ground, Mud gathers the remaining pieces of his kill and eases back. The earth eases between his toes. Leaves brush his ears and neck. Mud wears Tick’s leather cape—took it after he died because what use is a fine cape to a corpse that will be eaten in the night by scavengers anyways? The scol focuses on the free meal rather than on attacking Mud. He stands and watches the switching of its tail. He needs to leave. He stays and watches until the scol licked its paws cleaned before cleaving another haunch from the bunny’s body.

When Mud reaches his camp, his breakfast is missing three of its six legs and the fur is so mangled that he doesn’t bother trying to skin it before he puts it over the fire. Tick taught him how to snap two rocks together over wood shavings to make fire. Rock creates fire. Spectacular.

“Spectacular,” he says, sitting by the fire. There is no smoke from wet leaves or young wood. He waits for the flesh of his meal to crack. He traces the edges of the tattoos curving down on to his collarbone and chest. A cooka looks down at him. Its feathers puff around its body. He thinks its beautiful. Does it think he’s beautiful? The meat cooks. He eats. He stands. He stops. He could sit there all day. Could find a tall cliff and jump. Could track down the meanest scol. Get lost in a stampede of nells. He moves on, kicking dirt over the fire and leaving the bones to be picked through. The rodents will find he left no marrow in the bones for them.

The rykes find him: spear on his shoulder, ready to thrust forward. He shivers, allowing his muscles to loosen. They caw in coo in their flock. Their sizes are middling, but each of their feather bristle and they hop from branch to ground, nipping at each other wings. They should still be at the shallows of the Still Sea. Mud likes to watch them dance, wings lifted high. It mimics the bird of his tattoos. Now, he can’t. The rykes forced from their home are not happy creatures. They cocks their heads and caw after him as he runs back to their abandoned nests and the Still Sea. He shouldn’t run. He’s run before. Torn up his feet so that he couldn’t walk for almost a week. The rkyes are fussy creatures. They don’t need a reason to flee. It could be nothing. It’s probably nothing. So he runs faster.

As the girl rubbed her eyes in a futile attempt to stop up the tears, she began to notice oddities about herself. For example, her right eye-socket was hollow and scarred over. Several fingers from both of her hands were missing, though the injuries didn't seem recent. Enamored with her hands, she forgot her tears, content to feel every ridge and undulation.

Soon enough, a firm SMACK sounded to her right, and she swiveled her head around to inspect. A man was floating on top of the water - wait, no. He made no effort. He was resting. Past him, a woman was pushing her hand into the water, and the water pushes back. When the other woman looked up, the girl made eye contact with her. Almost instantly she understood. The water was different. Curiosity overcame her fear, and, wishing to find out for herself, she extended a leg over the box and pushed her toes into the water. It held, but dipped down around her foot. Delighted, she put her other leg down and stood on the water. She wobbled - though it held her, it was trampoline-like, providing little stability. However, she was practically giddy with this discovery, and a strange barking cough emerge from her throat. It was uncalled for, and she frowned, unsure of what it was. It was as if her mind was a vat of dismembered thoughts, swirling at incredible speeds. She snagged one. Laughter! It was laughter. She laughed again, impressed with herself.

Turning her attention to the man resting on the water with a smile, she took a step. He waved his hand to her and she took another step, and another, and another, until she was a foot or so from him, peering down at his prone form. The water showed no sign of breaking, but when he made a sound - slow, almost painful - she attempted to step closer, and the water gave way. The two plummeted through the sudden hole in the water to the colder, wetter underside. This is how she remembered water.

Luck was working both for and against the pair. The water was crystal clear, and shallow - possibly ten feet deep or less. A small reef rested just below their feet. However, the girl was too distracted by the water that rammed its way up her nose and in her mouth. She choked, and flailed in a blind panic. The water, though less tense, was almost jelly-like - the more she tried to move, the harder it became. Her panic increased. When she attempted to propel herself upward, she was met with equal downward force. A leftover sob from her earlier cry forced its way out and she sucked in a mouthful of water. Her throat burned and she shut her eyes to all the bubbles she stirred up. Not even five minutes out of the coffin and she's going to drown - what a pity.

The man's thoughts were wrenched from his skull--in an instant, he was submerged in water, and his eyes burned with the light blue. He tensed his jaw, conjuring a memory of keeping his mouth closed underwater--his tongue exploded in pain. He had bit it! Gasping, water was sent down his throat, like liquid fire despite its coolness. Flailing around in desperation proved useless--he sank to a reef, resting not more than a few feet under the water. However, pain clouded his thoughts. He desperately tried to remember how to move underwater...there was a name for it, but he couldn't remember. More pressing matters were on his mind.

Looking to his right, he saw another figure in the water. At first he was scared--which leviathan of the deep had come to consume his flesh?--upon a millisecond of inspection, it was a girl. One of the ones from above the water. The man knew he couldn't leave her down here, in this pain. He moved to save her.

Tensing his thighs under the water, he pushed off--darting through the water as if he had been born in it. He moved his hands outwards and kicked, as if he were forcing the liquid out of his way. Swim! That was the word, and that was what he did--despite his burning eyes and lungs, he moved with single-minded purpose. Save the girl, and himself.

Or die.

He crashed into the girl's torso with force. They tumbled together for half a second--the man was tempted to breathe for air--his body screamed for it. Ignoring the warnings, he again darted upwards, towards one of the boxes above the surface. The girl was light underwater, strangely so--and he was glad. His body couldn't take much more.

Sweet air! They both broke through the surface, feeling the wind on their faces once again. He kept kicking and moving with his hand, trying to reach the metallic box that was only a few feet away. He was ready to pass out. His hand ran along the edge, feeling the coolness, and he scrambled to push the girl over the edge--another pair of hands came down to join him. He looked up to see another take the girl from his hands, and help him up himself. With all three in the box, it swayed from side to side slightly, rocking in the waters. The man didn't care. They were alive!

He looked up at the figure, to say something. The sun in his eyes prevented him from seeing their face, but it didn't matter. He wanted to say something in thanks--but he didn't realise his mouth was still closed, and that water still filled it. Pain flared in his lungs, and he found himself retching the water over the side of the box. After a few moments he remained dry-heaving. His hands cramped as he gripped the side of the box tightly. His eyes watered and his tongue burned. But a minute ago, he didn't feel any pain--he'd forgotten what pain even was. Now, it was all that clouded his mind.

Still, he turned to the girl on the floor. She had short hair, and an eye missing, curiously. He wondered for a half second if it was lost in the water--but the scars there indicated it had been lost long ago. He remained concerned--she wasn't moving, and guessed she swallowed water as well. He didn't want her to die. Feeling grief grip him, he screamed. "Help!" the word echoed in the area--creatures took flight at the sound of such a loud noise. He turned to the figure, tears in his eyes. "Help." Looking back at the girl, he felt anger at himself. He couldn't remember what to do, how to help--it was all his fault. Everything was his fault.

The young woman saw the blonde's eyes light up in understanding as their eyes met, and watched as she took a fascinated step onto the strange water. She slowly walked on the water towards the man laying next to his coffin, making a strange noise that seemed...happy. The brunette half-smiled until she noticed the water's surface bowing lower and lower under the pair's ever-combining weight. Disaster struck as the surface suddenly broke, sending the man and woman splashing into its depths. She shrieked in alarm and pointed at the rippling facade. Gripping the edge of her box, she leaned over as far as she could to see if she could spot them under the water, but it was simply too opaque. She couldn't see a thing. She wanted to help them, to do something, but the fear of meeting the same fate kept her in her place.

Just as suddenly as they had disappeared, the man's and woman's heads popped out of the lake, and she could see that the man was holding the woman up and reaching for the rim. She instantly extended her own arms, and struggled to hoist the woman up into her box. When they had all emerged from the lake and were safe inside the coffin, she gently laid the blonde down after realizing she was unconscious. The man looked at her unseeingly for a moment, and then turned and vomited water over the side. The brunette turned her attention to the girl on the floor, concern flooding her face. When the man had done emptying himself of water, he also looked down at the blonde. The man screamed a word, startling her violently. "Help!" She looked at his eyes, which had filled with angry tears. "Help," he whispered again.

She focused again on the unconscious girl, this time with determination. She thought quickly, racking her brain for a solution. She realized the girl's chest wasn't moving. She wasn't breathing! Somehow the brunette knew that if she didn't get air soon, she would never wake. She reasoned that if the girl couldn't breathe on her own, someone would have to breathe for her. She reached over and placed her mouth over the blonde's and blew air into her as hard as she could. She felt air leak out of the other girl's nose. Pinching it shut this time, she blew again and again for what was probably only a few moments but felt like forever. Finally she felt sour water hit her own mouth from the girl's and she swung herself off the sputtering girl, putting an arm behind her back to help her to her side. The blonde coughed and coughed, drenching the bottom of the box in expelled water and gasping for air in between hacking.

The brunette met the man's eyes and smiled broadly. "Help."

Mud trips over a root and runs into a tree. Breath gone and balls aching, he slumps to the ground. The leaves are slick from the morning chill. He pulls his cape closer over his bare shoulders. Aside from his fundoshi and leather shin guards to protect against creatures with a tendency to bite at ankles and thorns, he wears nothing else. Something stirs in him, naked, that’s the word, but to him, Naked isn’t a word. She’s a person. Naked was the best hunter in their group. She’s the one who taught him how to walk in the forest, feet feeling for twigs and dried leaves. He taught her how to trap.

Yes, Naked was her name, not what he was. Her belly grew fat and round, the skin stretching from Baby. Dude had been so happy. Said he wanted his name to be Father, instead, but Dude broke his ankle and died from blood poisoning before anyone ever called him Father.

Able to stand without wincing, Mud jogs towards the shore. The water doesn’t move or create sounds like some of the waterfalls he’s come upon. The ground changes from sinking mud to tough sand and the trees thin and small brushes become more prominent. He hangs back, covered in shadows. He scans the shore. Nothing. He looks farther out. Maybe. Something. Clamping his spear between his teeth, he starts to climb. The twisting formation of the tree makes it an easy climb. He peers out over the side of the tree, back at the Still Sea, inches higher, checks again.

Yes.

He slips and rips skin on his toes clambering for purchase.

“Yes,” he breathes over the wood shaft of his spear.

A whoop builds in his throat. An accurate burst of elation, but he presses his forehead into the smooth bark of the tree. Tick’s voice saying, “Use your words, Mud.” He whispers everything he’s wanted to tell anyone since Naked and Baby died. About the lumbering Jakabo who’s been the closest thing to human he’s known these last two, lonely years and how he wants it to hold him, like Naked held Baby. How it took three days to burn the bodies because of the rain. How he hasn’t gotten any new scars. What it was like to find the third monument. How he knows the answer to the riddle, but hasn’t been brave enough to move on.

Mud shimmies up to the thickest branch to watch, spear balanced over his lap. He strains, hands braced on the wood beneath him, when he catches the water swallowing up two figures. They’re more than 400 meters out. He was never a fast runner. He bites his cheek. He waits, twirling spirals and circles into the tree with his fingers. Maybe its squares and geometrics—He doesn’t pay attention. He watches them. Watches them help one another. Watches them talk to one another. Watches them smile at one another. He doesn’t want to watch them. He doesn’t dare close his eyes. They might disappear.

She stood in her box watching in acute fascination as two of the others walked on top of the water and listened to the strange sounds coming from them. The sound meant something she was sure, it meant.. joy! She too wanted to experience this joy and moved to step over the edge of her coffin and onto the water's surface, halting suddenly when a loud splash sounded and the two who were already on the water plunged into the depths.

Instinct nearly took over and she almost leaped in after the pair, though she managed to restrain herself when they soon resurfaced and were pulled into a nearby coffin by one of the others. Looking around once more time she noted one other still standing in is box. Slowly the young woman raised her hand, palm facing the man in acknowledgement that he was there. A questioning frown was written on her face as she quickly glanced back at the other three, should they go and.. help?

She coughed, and warm, disgusting water bubbled up in her throat. Two figures stood over her, with contrasting expressions – the woman's was that of joy, and the man's was worry. It struck her that she almost died. They must have saved her. Filled with some emotion that turned her tummy warm, even though her skin was wet and cold, she lurched forward and wrapped her arms around the woman. A hug, she remembered. The woman was warm, and smelled good. When she pulled away, her eyes caught sight of the necklace around the other's neck. She touched it, and looked up to meet her eyes. "Agate," she blurted. A gemstone - surely what her necklace was. Pleased with the word, she repeated it and pushed a finger into the woman's chest gently. "Agate."

Turning away from Agate, towards the man, she reached out and touched his face gently. His hair interested her, and she looked at him pleadingly, as if to ask if she could touch it.

The girl laying in the coffin haphazardly spluttered water from her mouth, spraying it in his face. He threw up his arms to protect himself-and yet the man was overcome with a sensation he hadn't felt...in as long as he could remember. She was okay. He couldn't fathom why her well-being was so important to him. He didn't want to see anyone get hurt. Her soaked clothes hugged her tightly, revealing a lithe, small frame. The man looked away almost in embarrassment. He was glad he saved her, but thought it was best left at that. She almost leapt up past him to wrap her arms around the woman beside him, clinging to her tightly. The man almost felt a twinge of jealousy. I had swam down to save her, and yet I am recognised for nothing. The man felt something akin to scorn. He felt like this was almost typical. For some reason, he almost felt like crying. It seemed he was always the one left dejected when everyone else was at their happiest. Despite his despondency, a small part of him still glimmered with content. At least she was safe. The man had to suppose so--at least he wasn't a complete failure.

He felt a small, clammy hand touch his cheek. With the girl's whole hand, she stroked his cheek gently. He turned to look at her in shock--she had nothing on her face but gratitude towards him. His gasped slightly; she gave him such a soft, calm smile he couldn't help but feel placated. He immediately felt guilty for his envy earlier. She didn't forget about me. He felt so horrid. How could he feel so jealous when he wasn't deserving of anything anyway? You don't save to receive a reward, you do it because it's meant to be done. You...you fool...you should just get back in the water and--

Very suddenly, the girl's finger brushed his hair. He hadn't the awareness to notice before--his hair tumbled down around him in neat, black locks. They were spongy and smelt slightly earthy. She looked at him, almost pleading with him to let her touch it. He almost laughed. I don't see why not. He grabbed her hand and wrapped it around one of the fuzzy coils. Seeing her face light up in wonder was enough to burn all the depressive thoughts away. He resolved, if he could make her happy, he would be happy as well.

I'm guessing this is advanced?