The bleeding had stopped, mostly, by the time he'd woken up. There were no crimson stains to mar the whiteness of the sandy beach. Even so, a ginger touch told him that it hadn't been a dream - the horns were gone.

He wasn't quite sure how he felt about that. Those horns had caused him to be an outcast and an easy target for blame, even to the point of human sacrifice - but he had been born with them. They were a part of his identity, in a way; although they had forcibly set him apart, at least they had set him apart. They were visible proof that he was his own person, where so many of the other village children had seemed to be little more than slightly different versions of each other, gradually becoming younger versions of their parents.

But he was different. And though their fear and mocking never let him forget it, at least they knew that he was different.

However, this was another chance. Rather, it was the first chance he had ever had in his life to be normal.

She looked up at him, watching curiously as he tried to bandage his head, covering them with the strips that had once wound above and beneath. Digging a hole in the sand, he let the largest waves wash around his knees, filling it little by little with seawater. His reflection in the still pool told him that it was no use, for the nubs of the broken horns still protruded beyond his scalp, causing strange bulges beneath the wrapping.

Although the bleeding had mostly stopped, there was still a dark stain spreading slowly across the white bandages. How long had he been bleeding? How long had they been within that castle, without tangible food? It was no wonder that he was dizzy, and he closed his eyes against the somewhat dim reflection of himself in the makeshift mirror he'd made.

With eyes closed to the bright light, the sudden urge to sleep was even greater, and it was a struggle to fight against it, to open his eyes again. They needed food, they needed fresh water. Her pale skin would burn in the sun if they didn't find shade.

His head ached as he stumbled to his feet, holding out his hand to her as he had so many times before. She accepted, although with a vague look of concern, and let him lead her to the shadows at the foot of the cliffs, as the day wore on towards night. It was no effort for her to keep up this time.

He would sit down with her - just for a moment, he told himself, and then he would go look for food. After their experiences in the castle, the idea of leaving her alone worried him simply out of habit; but there were no demons here.

His head ached, and he sat down. In the shade, it would have been even easier to slip into slumber, but he must not.

She was the light to keep him awake, and he watched as she looked around them, searching through the cool grass. Her eyes fell on and followed a scurrying insect, then she looked back out to the sea, running a hand through her damp hair.

His hair was wet also. Not from the seawater, but with something darker and stickier, and his hand came away with traces of red and flecks of black. Washing it with the water they had available would do no good - the salt would only cause the wounds to sting.

And his head ached.

Her gaze turned from the sea, falling upon him with an airy weight. Still she held that look of vague concern, and his vision blurred as another white shape appeared before him - her hand, reaching up to touch the bandages.

He shook his head, but only succeeded in making himself dizzier, as she paid him no mind. One light finger rested upon the flat plane of a broken horn, causing a twinge of pain. A groan forced its way from his throat, and she jumped, drawing back her hand in alarm.

It was strange, he thought dreamily, that she had never been frightened of the horns. She was the only person he'd ever known in his life, even including his own mother, who had not looked at him with fear or hatred. But then, like himself, she was a being all her own.

Not daunted for long, again she reached up to touch his head, and there was another groan as her skin made contact. His vision was growing dark, the world little by little being consumed by shadow just as she'd been.

But before the darkness had overcome him, it registered that what he felt was not pain - not quite.

He awoke to twilight, to the reflection of the setting sun dancing on waves. He lifted his head experimentally from where it lay in her lap, and found the bandages removed. Even so, neither her dress or her skin showed a smudge of red, and she smiled down at him, standing out clearly against the shadows surrounding them.

And his head no longer ached.