Washed Ashore

For unknown millennia she drifted. Laid in a metal raft. The sea rocked her to sleep every night. Millions of nights.
Sometimes the boat would flip over, and water would fill her lungs. She'd cough and cough, but she could not die. It was not her time.
Of the remaining 3 Elves in the world. She was 1. With no prey to kill at sea, she was trapped as an infant. Crying until her lungs could cry no more.
Millennia later, the boat caught a chance current, and drifted to shore. A local huntsman found the babe and brought her to his village, but determined her to be cursed. No other creature bore such terrible grey skin; this could only be the work of evil magic.
The huntsman took it upon himself to pray to god for 3 days and then kill the child, to put it out of it's misery. But he did not return. The villagers went to his home, and found the huntsman dead. His own knife planted deep in his eye socket.
And the infant nowhere to be found.