A pair of thick arms encircled an attractive, strong featured woman in her thirties at the airport, one sheathed in a white and green checked shirt, the other in a solid, drab brown. The arms belonged to her parents; her mother Aiki wearing the drab brown, long sleeved shirt, was a heavier set woman with a face that greatly resembled her daughter's features, if aged a few more years and bearing a bit more flesh. Her skin seemingly naturally resistant to the weight of time, lines and wrinkles few and sparse, leaving her strong jawline, and beautiful green eyes, quite noticeable still in her early sixties. She smiled as she hugged her daughter, her eyes moist, but glad to have seen her youngest, if only for a few short days. As she released her daughter, she kissed her cheek, and then stooped to her grandchildren, giving the pair of them great encompassing hugs. Aiki enfolded them in her embrace, and the mixed scent of earthy clay, and a light, berry-like fragrance that they would always associate with mummo. When little Kamryn pulled the kerchief from her mummo's head, the short ponytail of rich chestnut hair, carefully tucked away unfurled and fell to just below the older woman's shoulder, tickling Kamryn's nose. Aiki gently pried the blue and white kerchief from the five year old's hands, before untying it, and wrapping it around her youngest granddaughter's auburn hair with gentle care, and a warm loving grin. In contrast to his wife, Russl bore the deep lines and creases of age with a stern, pensive expression that was just as natural as stone. As he released Seikku, his stubbled cheek brushing hers before he kissed her goodbye as well. His blue eyes, now faded with time, caught his daughter's glance, and a rare smile crept across his face. As his wife said goodbye to the children, he turned to Cecil, a handsome man with a strong, French appearance, and engulfed his outstretched hand with his bear-like mitt of calloused, leathery skin, and gave it a solid shake. Cecil, the man his daughter loved, and the father to her children had a firm grip, despite his more slender appearance. A lean muscled, physical trainer for the motorcycle team that Seikku managed. In the few short days they had spent together, Cecil had earned Russl's respect. As Aiki rose from the children, Russl stooped to their up-stretched arms. A deep grin of playful jubilance cracked his stern gaze as he took the pair by their waists, and straightened with the pair over his shoulders, their shrieks of laughter could be heard by all around as they beat at his broad back ineffectually. He sung softly in his deep, resonant bass, a passage of an old song his mother sung to him as a child. --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- The comfortable weight of Aiki's head against his shoulder as she slept, kept Russl's nerves calm as he watched out the window, to the growing storm. He couldn't say he liked it, he had always viewed thunderstorms as somewhat ominous. They were rare back home, but could be fiercely damaging. Having his business burn down to the ground, caused by a lightning strike of course, might make him slightly biased against nature's display of power. A flash of lightning rippled through the clouds, and the thunder drowned the constant drone of the engines for a moment. A tense sigh escaped the older man, as he looked back to Aiki. A careful gesture of brushing a stray hair away from her closed eyes, revealed his thick finger, rough from a life of hard work and scarred from cuts, abrasions, and burns of both heat and chemical, skin long stained a darker tone from the dirt and oil of his work. He envied her, being able to sleep so soundly. The first time they flew to America to see Seikko, he hadn't slept at all. This trip, he had managed an hour or two on the way from Finland, but eight hours out of Seattle, and he hadn't slept for a second. Not for lack of trying. Even so, he tried again, casting his solemn eyes out the window. Silently praying for this storm to pass, as he closed his eyes. --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Buckled into the seat during the thirteenth hour of the flight, his nerves were frayed by the violence of the turbulence, Aiki's face was white with terror as she gripped his left hand. A blinding flash of light, and the deafening blast of the air splitting in the wake of the electrical charge was trailed by the metallic ripping and popping of aluminium and steel. Aiki's hand shifted, and he grabbed hold of her hand int the split moment, as vision came back to his eyes, he saw the chasm between the front of the plane, Aiki, and himself growing as the front pivoted to the side, sucking Aiki out into the darkness of the storm, he gripped her hand as tight as he could as her body was whipped around to the exterior side of the aircraft, her arm meeting the jagged and torn metal at the elbow, where it separated and parted in an instant. Wind tore at his skin and clothes, lashing his silver hair in furious turbulance, his legs would have dangled in open air if they had not been pinned under the seat by the air pressure, rain drops pelted him with stinging velocity, as he snatched the arm of Aiki to his chest. --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Grit. Grit lined his tongue, his teeth, his cheeks. He tried to lick the grit away, but his tongue felt like sandpaper. He coughed, and flinched, the sharp stabbing pain near his diaphragm causing him to try and curl in on himself momentarily. A sudden wash of water flooded over him, filling his gaping mouth as he tried to deal with the pain. He coughed again, racking the water from his throat, as the pain stabbed harder, shards of black and white filling his vision as the pain threatened to take him once again. He fought the coughing down, grateful for the water to clear the worst of the grit from his mouth. Another blast of cold salt water crashed into his back, with some awareness, he kept his mouth closed, but this time opened his eyes, letting the salt water flush the grit from his corneas. It stung. It stung like hell, and he snarled, hissing in pain as the water receded again, wrenching his eyes shut. Another two waves washed against him, but not over him as he waited for the searing fire on his eyes to ease, he forced his eyes open, even as it brought more agony, he surveyed his immediate situation. He was on something soft, which turned out to be one of the floating seat cushions. Around him was sand, to the limit of his currently blurred vision. He was on his stomach, his right arm clutching something to his chest, between him and the cushion, his left was buried in the sand, clinging onto the cushion itself. A grimace of distaste washed over him, he couldn't even administer proper first aid to himself with his arms trapped like this, but if he moved and he had a spinal injury... He forced the thought from mind, and focused on his feet. Cold. He wiggled his toes within the flooded confines of his his shoe on his left foot, and free air on his right. He could feel the grit between his toes, and no flashes of pain. So far, so good. Ankles worked, to his knees and thighs, nothing but deep aches, and the stinging of slight lacerations or abrasions. Trying to check his hands for feeling was useless, numb from lack of circulation with his soaked body weight pushing them into the sand. The only thing for it was to move. A grunt escaped his lips as he pushed with muscles that felt dead and spent. Shoving himself to his right, and rolling over onto his back. He took a deep breath after the exertion, and at the rising noise of the water, he closed his eyes and held the second intake of air, letting the wave flood over him. Feeling crawling back through his alien arms, his skin prickling with salt, cold, and sand. The cushion was clumsily cast up the beach overhead, as he righted himself. Finally, he looked to what he numbly clutched to his chest, and halted. The tone was wrong. The tanned skin was grey and lifeless, the fingers still entwined with his from the parting hold. The forearm ended at the ragged cut through to the elbow joint, a couple shreds of skin dangling loosely. He stared at the arm of his lost wife blankly. Trying to process this. At some level, it registered. His wife was dead. She had been ripped from the plane at over three thousand meters of altitude, and fallen. Her arm had been severed. Slowly, he pried his fingers from hers, kissing the back of her hand one last time before he carefully removed the wedding ring from her ring finger. Looking into the simple ring, his mind lurched, but he held it back. His vision was clearing. There were others. There were others who were alive, and who may need his help now. Nothing could be done of Aiki at this moment. Grief could wait. It had to wait. He forced himself to his feet, against every muscle, ligament and bone in his body's protests. He leaned over, picking up the cushion, before he trudged, slowly up the beach to the edge of the sand. He laid the cushion down, and Aiki's arm above it, keeping her from rolling back to the water. The ring, he shoved into a soaking wet pocket, as he turned to look at the blurred white shape of the wreckage of the fuselage. His breath hitched on the pain. He looked down as he pulled up his shirt; across his abdomen was a deep bruise that spread up to just overlap the lowest of his left ribs. A touch there confirmed it in his mind, a rib or two were broken. Maybe three. Must have been wrenched when the seatbelt failed. It would hurt like hell, but there was little he could do about it, he had to push on. He began through the drizzling rain towards the shape of the aircraft. His eyes squinting against the stinging pain, his skin covered in small scrapes, and lacerations. Seeing movement of human shaped masses, he called simply waved, while moving towards them.