Eric

his name is Eric . The storm had torn the ship apart, leaving him clinging to flotsam as waves battered him. When he finally washed ashore, the sun was low, casting gold across a wild, untamed coast. He stood, dripping, muscles taut and corded, his chest and arms thick with hair that clung damp to his skin. His beard was tangled, streaked with salt, his dark eyes alert and wary, scanning the unfamiliar terrain. He moved with the ease of someone used to danger. Every step was deliberate, every motion precise. He fashioned makeshift tools from driftwood, built a crude shelter, and scavenged what he could from the wreckage. A survivor, yes—but also a man who refused to surrender. His bravery was evident in the set of his jaw, the steady cadence of his breathing, the way he approached every challenge with stubborn ingenuity. But even the strongest can be caught off guard. The forest edge opened to a patch of marsh, deceptively calm. He didn’t see the quicksand until it was too late. One foot sank, the other followed, and in moments the thick, sucking earth claimed him up to his chest. He struggled, but his strength only made the sand pull him deeper. A low growl escaped his throat—frustration, not fear. He was resourceful, yes, but this required more than brute force. He needed help. Despite the peril, his spirit remained unbroken. Eyes scanning for any chance of escape, he tested the edges, flexed his muscles, and bellowed into the quiet forest. If someone came, he would meet them with gratitude—but not shame. For he was a man forged by storms and hardship, a survivor even when trapped, and even here, in the choking grip of the earth, his courage shone undimmed.