Author's Note: After long wait, I'm back. Graduated. Got a job. Settled in. Consider this a teaser / promise for more!


There had been a storm during the night. It had left the beaches scattered with seaweed, shells and driftwood. Several ships had come loose from their moorings and shattered on the rocks. They drifted absently on the water now, some half sunk because of holes in their sides. Others lay on their sides on the beach, torn apart by the storm. The fishermen who lived on the island under Odysseus' rule were scrounging among the broken parts, hoping to salvage some piece of their livelihood. Others, whose ships had not been destroyed in the storm, thanked the god Poseidon for his mercy, pledging sacrifice to him. However, not all were so lucky. Barak, a forty year old fishermen, slowly walked down the beach, dragging driftwood behind him. The weathered man sighed heavily as he looked down at the beach. Without the boat, he had no means of supporting his family. He kicked a shell as he walked, watching it skitter along the sand before hitting a pile of seaweed. The pile of seaweed moved.

Barak had spent his whole life on Ithaca and living on an island taught certain behaviors. After a storm, if something was moving on the beach that could only mean one thing: a castaway. Dropping the sledge of driftwood, Barak ran forward and began peeling seaweed back hurriedly while yelling for help. Beneath the seaweed, hair matted with salt and remnants of the ocean, lay a man. He was breathing but barely. Other fishermen came running to help, lifting the man up and carrying him up the steps carved into the side of the rock to the lower levels of Ithaca. Barak called for his wife and a dark haired woman came running out to help. The men brought the unconscious man into Barak's home and laid him down on the bed.

Many castaways drifted up on the shores of Ithaca. Few survived.

He would survive for the Gods would not let one of their own die.