In the dark, it's harder to find my way. It's not often that I leave the islands by night, and never have I been without starlight or moonlight on the waves. All that exists now is eerie blackness, water and air and land undistinguished until I touch them.
The shape of the land and the way it moves the water is all that saves me from swimming into the endless unknown. There is the land, and though I've gone somewhat off course, my hooves scrape the sand eventually and I surge back on land with more than a little gratitude.
It was foolish to make this trip at all, but I need to know if there is some reason behind this eclipse that hasn't reached the islands yet. Any information at all. The dark is bad enough. Not knowing why is worse. So I stumble until the water no longer strokes my heels, until the sand crunching beneath my feet is dry. "Hello?" I holler into the dark. "Anyone there? Anyone!"
My voice echoes back, and then there's silence. As unusual as the darkness itself, the quiet is what gets to me. Makes me wonder if this is a slow torture, designed to strip us all of our senses one by one. It's an agonizing thought to be left alone with.