At the sound of her name accompanied by that voice she knew well, relief washes over her. She spins until she can see the distant figure of her brother and scrambles in his direction, almost tripping over her feet too. Grace does not come naturally when coupled with desperation; grace does not matter. Nothing else matters--not her things, not the fact that she is covered with the smell and wetness of sea water--except that her brother is there and alive as well.

She sprints and practically flings herself at her brother for a hug she so desperately wants. "Valentin!" She hasn't sounded this young since their mother died. "Thank God," she whispers.