When Richard woke up, he felt himself engulfed in something warm and prickly. They were small shards of---actually he couldn't say for certain, but it felt like sand —myriads of them encompassing this body, most of which began to fall off as he attempted to move himself. Steadily, his eyes began fluttering open. The first thing he saw was a torrid, blinding light.

"So bright," he wheezed, his arm shifting over to protect his eyes. One hand stood straight to support him as he began sitting up and looked around.

For a moment, he thought he was hallucinating because in front of him, laid the vast ocean, and behind him, an island; but he never knew a hallucination to be so tangible, the sparkling shaving of quartz beneath him felt so real, but then again, he could be dead and this could be his version of Heaven. In fact, it wouldn't be a surprise if he was dead. Richard had lasted days on bound with nothing but the salty sea to gorge himself. The prolonged suffering that the waters have brought—the thirst, the anger, the hallucinations and that damned creature!

Was it truly all over? Was this really paradise? It sure looked like it. Flowers, from an arrangement of varying colors and sizes–all of them vivacious and vibrant–decorated the outskirts of a jungle. Trees stood high–most of which begat the most exotic of fruits that were plump and ripe–had either long canopy-like leaves that provide tremendous protection from the sun's rays or palmate leaves that resembled stars; they had covered the whole island east to west. He even noted that in the plane of greenery that there was a tremendous mountain that stood in the heart of the island. Silhouettes of birds flew high above, circling it.

He got up fully, swaying as like baby learning to take his first steps. They were ponderous, scattering sand everywhere as he began walking towards what he thought was Heaven. Richard never made it past a couple feet; he was stalled by meek whimpers of an animal in pain. Although weak, they were whiny–urgent, similar in the manner of something on the verge of death, begging to end it from misery.

It reminded him of the times his grandfather and father went on hunting trips with him. On one specific occasion, his grandfather had pulled the lever of his rifle, and bang, shot the gravid doe on the side of its stomach—causing a deep, sanguineous wound that stained its fur. It let out a horrendous screech that made the insides churn and his heart swell in grief. He saw it stare at him; those melancholy eyes were wide, pitiless holes filled with tears. He watches as he vitality left its body before his granddad shot it again–but this time Richard didn't have the nerve to look its way. It was an amalgam of shame and melancholy that filled his young mind, and he knew it that moment, that he wasn't as callous as his grandfather nor father—who both hunted for only sport.

He was soft, and valued life beyond his own kind. A flaw in his masculinity and his future rule.

Ungainly, he pivoted his head to the direction of the source, and ten feet away was the deathly pale humanoid-creature, lolled out on the sand, feet wet from the waves. It looked even worse than before.

There was a twinge of guilt that the prince felt, despite it attempting to look intimidating. There was no fear in the salty air, only pity. He reasoned that he should have hated the creature, should have finished it off right then as it laid vulnerable, kill it before it kills him–but he couldn't.

He clenched his jaw at the sight and didn't look back; he stepped in.