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Sky had no idea how he'd arrived here.
He lifted a hand to shade his eyes against the punishing sun and looked out at the bright horizon. He turned in a slow circle, straining to see anything past the sun’s glare on the water. His eyes burned with the light and with magic, pinpointing details about the sea that most mortals wouldn't be able to see.
Still nothing.
He had no idea where he was, or what direction land might be. He waited on a single, sandy island big enough for a few trees and little else.
His bag held a bit of food and water, at the very least. But he had no relevant magic, and no way to contact anyone. His wings would get tired eventually, if he just flew out in a random direction. The world definitely had unremarkable stretched of ocean like this, so he had absolutely no guarantee that he would find somewhere to rest before he found more land. He couldn't navigate by stars alone, not like some other members of his party could. He was stuck.
Sky retreated to the shade of the trees behind him and tucked his wings back, then pulled out a small snack: dried meat, along with a bit of journeybread leftover from Wild’s latest batch. One serving of that counted as full rations for a day. Sky had three total, so combined with his water stores, that meant he could last on essentially one meal a day for a little over a week.
If he left now, he would have energy and perhaps a fair chance at finding a good direction to fly.
If he waited, he'd get weaker and weaker until escape was no longer an option at all.
Or… He could split the difference. Make the risk less risky.
Sky put his food away and raised his hand to measure the distance from the sun to the horizon line. He probably had a few hours until full sunset. He could fly out a distance, then return, as long as he didn't push too hard and drown. His wings were not suited to swimming. Or even floating.
He stowed his chain mail and other bulky items in his magic bag to make himself lighter, arranged his short cape over his back to prevent the exposed skin beneath his feathers from getting sunburned, and took a running leap.
Sometimes, Sky forgot how much he truly did enjoy flying. It was so commonplace, so normal. But every so often… He soared, and so did his soul.
To Sky’s delight, the air above the vast ocean didn't fight him. He went high, keeping an eye out for any speck of anything. His little island turned into a dark dot on the blue, his only landmark. Using it as a guide, he started to spiral outward, watching the horizon all the while.
Sky's stamina wasn't up to the level of some people he knew, but he had practice. He knew how long he could fly without a break, and how to ride the air to limit his effort. He went for about half that time. His spiral didn't go too wide, but he figured he could see several miles out.
Nothing.
Somewhat disappointed, but nowhere near discouraged, Sky turned around as the sun set to get back to the little island before he got too tired to continue. He almost panicked for a minute when he couldn't find his island in the growing darkness, but it eventually appeared like a specter just as his wings started to give out.
He stumbled down to the sand, taking the weight off his wings and ending up on his hands and knees. He dropped his head and gasped for breath, exhausted from the flight and the panic. His wings dragged behind him.
Sky slept on the sand that night, at least until the tide woke him and he had to drag himself farther up the beach to wait until morning.
The second day, he rested. He stacked some of the foliage into a shelter from the sun, and spent the time weaving a basket to hold water. He had a little jar of pellets that would turn seawater into clean drinking water, and plenty of them. He just needed a vessel of some kind.
On the third day, Sky determined north from the rising sun, lit an everburning torch and set it up on his island, then flew in as straight a direction as he could. Again, he saw nothing. Again, he returned by sunset—this time easily able to find the island, thanks to the fire—and again, he collapsed right to sleep.
The fourth day, Sky wanted food and company more than he ever had before. He sang to himself as he flew south, half as far as he could go. Unfortunately, no seabirds heard him and came to investigate, but a huge sea monster of some kind did. Sky had to dart quickly back above the crests of the waves to avoid being eaten. Those teeth were huge.
Sky’s sunburns ached too much for him to go out on the fifth day, but he tried to be productive anyway, attempting prayers to various gods that might be sympathetic. Either none of them heard him, or they didn't care. He hadn’t really been counting on that solution, anyway.
On the sixth day, Sky had to return from his flight out west thanks to a great storm brewing ahead of him. The only thing worse than falling into the sea thanks to exhaustion would be getting tossed there by strong wind.
Sky missed Wind. He missed all of them. He missed hearing things besides the air rushing past his ears or rustling the trees.
He felt a little less exhausted than usual that evening, having cut his exploration short. Dread weighed heavy in his heart—he hadn't found anything nearby, at all. He had no hints as to where to go, and at this point, he began to suspect magical intervention, which was a whole other issue. It didn't help that he was cranky and tired from trying to stretch his food, but he had just passed the half-gone mark.
He tried to reinforce the little shelter he had, but still got miserably soaked when the storm swept overhead. He spent day… six?… spread out in the sun, trying to dry his feathers. And sleep.
Sky picked east as his direction the next day. Even without his chain mail, he felt heavy as he lifted into the air, but he didn't dare drift closer to the waves, leery of seeing another monster. He saw some appendage sticking above the water far below at one point, but went higher to avoid it. He couldn't afford getting into a fight right now, especially not an airborne one.
He returned to his torch after dark, which was perhaps a bit dangerous, but he'd pushed himself farther than ever that day. He managed to crawl between the trees and, as he passed out, he thought he heard Twilight's voice.
“Hey, Twi,” he mumbled, not caring if he spoke to a hallucination or not. He might as well have. Perhaps imagining his friends was better than being alone.
As Sky landed hard on the only island in sight, Twilight shifted from shark to half-elf and climbed up the sand, too. Sky didn't seem to notice him. Even in the warm light of the magical torch, Sky looked exhausted: wind-burned, chapped lips, ragged nails.
He'd been here for a week, thanks to some idiot with several teleportation spells and a grudge. The idiot was dead, and Twilight and the others had already rescued Legend, Wild, and Hyrule, all dropped somewhere inhospitable.
It had taken far too long to find Sky. He was in the worst shape out of all of them, which was… not awful, considering what it could be, but bad enough that he still didn't wake up when Twilight knelt next to him.
Twilight pushed a lock of salt-crusted hair away from Sky’s face and watched for breath. He sat back with some relief. Not that he'd doubted. Still relieving.
He removed a variety of things from his pack and settled them where Sky would see when he woke up: plenty of food, water, a cleaning brooch that was almost as good as a bath, a locator beacon, and paper for a note explaining that Twilight would go get the others and show them the way back.
“Rest up,” Twilight said, standing up. “You'll be getting a few enthusiastic hugs.”
Sky mumbled something and shifted, then fell dead asleep again.
Twilight turned out to the large, dangerous sea and braced himself for another long swim.