Gwen was surprised when the man drew a blade against her, and she stepped back before rooting herself, taking the stance of a trained fighter. But it didn't take much for her to understand, and relax her posture - if this man was as confused as she was, it made complete sense to pull a knife.

[i]“What did you do to me? Why can’t I FEEL anything?”[/i]

So, it wasn't just her. She noted the strange way the man hobbled, like a baby purliquan standing for the first time. He felt it, too. He had been broken. He had survived, like she had. And he should not have - like she had.

She lowered her fists, then pointed to the ominous, displayed corpses on the hill. Her many years of service started to click inside her brain.

"We're in unknown territory," she explained to the pale man. "We don't know what awaits us among the white rocks. At a tide market, we know the rules. We speak the language. We should be safe. More or less. We can find supplies. Medicine. These people need our help,"

((OOC note: because the tide markets are pretty universal, so is the vod language - AKA the trade language, or the Language of Buying and Selling. Most everyone on the planet understands and speaks the trade language conversationally.))

She looked up at the silent, perfectly spherical invader in the sky. She felt something churn in a part of her stomach she had never felt before.

Was it some sort of moon?

Or another world?

Her eyes scanned for that shadow she'd seen. That weird, dark shape snaking across the purple crescent.

Had she imagined it?

Gwen kept her eyes on the man’s knife as he shifted his weight, still unsteady on his feet. His face was pale, his eyes darting from her to the bodies on the shore, to the endless black tide creeping toward them. He looked like a man trying to wake up from a nightmare but finding no way out.

She understood that feeling all too well.

"What's your name?" she asked, not expecting an answer but needing to establish some kind of command. "Who were you traveling with?"

Gwen exhaled sharply, scanning the others who were beginning to stir. Survivors. Some sat up groggily, blinking at the morning light. Others remained still, either unconscious or beyond saving. A few were trying to stand, shaking off the shock of whatever had brought them here.

She counted twelve awake.

That wasn’t enough.

Her thoughts began assembling in practiced order, the instinct of an officer taking over even as uncertainty clawed at the edges of her mind. What would command expect in a situation like this?

First, assess. She took stock of the supplies—none. Weapons—this man had a knife, but nothing else was immediately visible. Medical assistance—unlikely, unless they found someone among the survivors with the skills they needed. And their injuries… or lack of them.

Her stomach tightened again.

"I don’t know what happened to us," she admitted, forcing her voice to remain level, professional. "But it doesn’t matter. We're alive. And that means we act accordingly."