The Fisher had seen many strange things in his life, long before he decided to retire in the frontier town of the Spire. Never did he expect to find such colorful fish, begging for him to find them.
She had washed up along the shore, her sheathed trident floating in the water beside her; A mischievous friend who had graciously helped him repair his nets months ago, now all limbs and discolored fabrics.
He slung the trident behind his back, taking the woman within his arms with a pained wheeze.
The trek into town, past the little shacks, past the Siren’s Song, past the stables - he definitely had made the wrong turn at some point to the hospital, having found himself at the guardhouse.
He laid her there in the common area, wiping the sweat off his brow. One of his stranger catches indeed.
