Island in Time (closed for SwanLake)

The waves crashed gently on the sand, the morning sky a clear blue that showed no trace of the tumultuous storm of the night before. The rocks that jutted from the sand and marched out to the sea created a small protected pool before the larger breakers of the open ocean. The sand slowly gave way to sea oats and scrub, dotted with a few palmetto, before the ground began to grow more green under the shade of scraggly trees. In the distance the land rose high to a great cone of a mountain at the island's core.

But all that was far from the woman laying near motionless on the sand. No trace was left of her ship, and indeed it was only her own strength of body and will that had brought her through the night and kept her alive.

As she stirred, a breeze began to blow in from the open waters, a cool breath that soon would be a welcome contrast to the heat of the rising sun.

Cynthia DeKnight
28 years old
A frisky 5'3 with hair as true black as the night sky without the glitter of the stars or the moon, pin straight and silky, worn down wild and free like herself and flowing past the small of her back. Skin soft and bearing a few scars, never darker than a pale golden despite her life under the sun. Perfectly heart shaped face with pronounced cheekbones, a slightly upturned nose, pointed chin and smallish ears. Thickly lashed almond eyes the color of the ocean, known to change like an incoming storm. Soft blushed colored lips, naturally pouty and bow shaped. Elegant neckline, petite body build with womanly curves. Breasts a mere handful but perky. Taunt stomach that flares to hips graced for a dancer and a backside shapely and firm. And more legs then seemingly possible muscled and yet delicate with strong feet hardened by years running around barefooted.

- - - - - - -

Cyn was born to parents with a wandering soul. They were both doctors that traveled the world helping those who needed it. Neither worked with any specific program but they met time and time again before finally creating a life together. When they had a child they passed on their love to travel and medicine to her. Life was perfect until tragedy struck and while out helping a village Cyn’s father, Albert, was swept away by a mudslide that claimed his life. As a two year old it had little effect on Cyn but it haunted and scarred her mother who pined for her soulmate for the rest of her life.

When Cyn came of age they returned to the known world and she enrolled in the leading university for medicine. Two years into her schooling and she knew that college wasn’t for her and in the middle of class she up and left and never looked back.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - -

This was the first vacation that Cyn was taking for herself. Many would argue that the last four years had been a vacation but the demand for an English healer was strenuous and often times dangerous. It was fortunate that more times than not she had a guide with her, another from a village that could speak on her behalf or the times that she didn’t she was already heard of. There had been a time or two in the past that neither had helped and it had gotten a bit hairy but she always came in a time of need and desperation few the bravery to think outside of the box.

“You don’t go. A storm Kapochi.”

Her local nickname was ‘Kapochi’ roughly meaning ‘Good Blood’ in the mixed malayo trader dialect. Cyn wasn’t sure who had given her the day but one day someone had address her as such and it had been son since. “A storm?” English was a limited language his far from the main cities so often words got mixed up. Always the careful sailor she had spent the morning pouring over NOAA’s weather forecast and her navigation gauges. Nothing hinted at a storm and it was doubtful that the beautiful day would turn stormy.

“Mother says.” Dusit argued a frown forming on his deep bronze skin.

Dusit had been born near enough to Bangkok that English had been a part of his schooling. While it was true that the middle aged man had little use for the language as he grew up, he was the closest thing to a translator she had in these parts.

Cyn didn’t want to argue, Mother was the village elder and wise woman for the joining smaller villages in the surrounding area. If she said something it was take as fact and no one said otherwise. “I’ll keep land in sight.” She compromised. As it stood she was pushing the date of this vacation pretty close as it was. Nerya was hugely pregnant and as an older woman with her first birth there were a lot of complications to be expected. She had a week tops before they were in the red time on time and having been made a sister to this birth by the chief, her attendance was demanded and would be seen as an offence and an act of ill will against the mother and child if she didn’t show.

After two years Dusit stayed silent. He didn’t have the words to press the matter further and the stubborn woman wouldn’t have listened anyways. “By the land.” He gruffly nodded.

- - - - - - - - - -

People were used to her leaving, as sad as it sometimes was. This time thought they all knew Cyn would be back before they could miss her and farewells were chipped and hurried. She didn’t want to think anything of it but she couldn’t help but wonder if maybe it had something to do with the hard look she was receiving from Mother that rushed the matter. If something were truly the matter the old woman would have pinched her and spoke her mind, so Cyn left the thought go.

- - - - - - - - - -

A little past six, just as the sky was turning sooty, lightning sparked distantly out on the horizon. “Hmm…” Checking her equipment Cyn frowned. Even her laptop screen told her nothing of a storm and her scanners were just as lacking in information. “Seems Mother was right.”

That had been the last clear thought Cyn had. Ungodly quick the storm was upon her. As hard as she tried she wouldn’t outrun it. She had never seen a storm like this, as if it were alive and were purposefully coming after her.

Lightning struck the port ama. Sirens blared to life. “Oh now you have something to say!” Cyn snapped trying to hold true to her heading. Something above her snapped and the sound of metal shattering chilled her blood. In this light with so much movement from the wind she didn’t know what the sound was or where it came from but it didn’t sound good. Even worse, whatever had broken set free her sails and the wind howled with glee as it took control of the trimaran. The wheel was torn from her hands and even when she managed to get hold of it, she didn’t have to strength to fight Mother Nature.

The whorl of metal carabiners zipped up and down her stay lines, the sirens still screaming and yet another sound of metal creaking and breaking to the storm. Cyn had just enough time to look over her should before the boom caught her over the chest and shoulder, effortlessly tossing her overboard and unconscious.

- - - - - - - - - -

Pain.

Cyn gathered a stinging breath and groaned out loud. At least she was alive. Dead people surely didn’t hurt this bad.

Bright light.

Gingerly she opened her eyes and squinted up at the sky. It was late morning and she was on a beach. Not because she could see it but the gentle lapping at her legs and course wet sand under her ass told her as much. The soft caresses from the waves only pissed Cyn off. Where were these sweet touches last night when she needed them? She accused the ocean in the safety of her mind. Too many years living in superstitious countries had her fearing the ears of the ocean and the wrath that came with disrespecting her.

Slowly Cyn moved parts of her body, tallying the hurts and accessing their levels of possible injuries. Left knee. Collarbone to right shoulder. Neck. All those she wrote off as trauma. It was the ragged wheeze in her lungs, the dull stinging throb at the base of her skull and gash just under her elbow that worried her. If she could get to her boat…

Her boat! It was by no means quick but it was as fast as Cyn could move. On her feet the world feel just as sore but she didn’t care at the moment, she needed to know that her boat was safe. It was her life, the means by which she lived by and the total worth of her wealth stacked in debt. Against the glare of the ocean Cyn scanned the expanse before her. Nothing. “No.” It wasn’t an answer she was ready to accept so she scanned the waters again, this time slowly hoping that even if it was just a speck she would be able to see it. Again, nothing.

Turning she took her first look at the island she was stranded upon. Nothing stood out. No huts, boats or even footsteps. Not the best sign but this was only one part of the island, who’s to say there wasn’t a thriving village just around the corner. As far as she could tell she could be anywhere from Thailand to the as far as Papua New Guinea and anywhere in between. Not good at all...

Limping and exhausted, Cyn hobbled her way towards the trees in search of a sturdy limb to help brace her. All she had to do was round that point westward and not only would there be people but her boat as well. She lied to herself.

As she closed in on the trees, something itched at her mind. They weren't quite right, those trees, not for anything she'd expect to see for hundreds of miles. The bird calls in the trees, they were close but somehow not quite right either.

The first tree worth the name she laid hands on had a smooth bark that felt good in her hands, patterns of deep green and brown that the Thai woodworkers of her adoptive home would have made into beautiful chairs and baskets. But still the pattern was unfamiliar, for all her explorations.

Fortunately there were quite a few branches straight enough to act as a walking stick, and the joints where they connected to the trunk relatively weak. Where the branches turned and twisted towards their ends could be visualized by her keen mind as reasonable braces to go beneath an arm for someone of her height.

Yet no sounds that might indicate a village, or even a distant boat or plane, reached her ears. Even the animal sounds seemed muted.

Just as she started to get used to that though, she heard an unmistakably human cry of pain through the scattered wood.

As her mind turned up possible solutions little things here and there began to come into focus.

She was barefooted. Not the best thing to be, a set of hard soled boots would have been preferred but Cyn rarely wore shoes. The dark red cargo capris were her newest purchase, in fact this was only the second or third time she had worn the pants. In a perfect she would have liked more room in the legs but they were comfortable on a normal bases. Maybe without all the sand tucked into each and every nook and cranny she would be more comfortable. “Go figure.” Cyn huffed searching her pockets. Pocket knife, lighter and rite in the rain pen and pocket notebook. Useable things for sure but she couldn’t help but list the number of other things she wished she had. “Be happy that you have what you have.” She reminded herself out loud. The silence was getting to her. “Awe man…” Cyn treasured her red and black diamond marked Harley Quinn hooded tank top and now that it was salt soaked Cyn worried that the colors would fade. Of all the things to be worried about and that was somehow on the top of her list. “If this shirt gets ruined…” She cursed. Besides that there was nothing to Cyn that would give her a clue or edge on this unknown island. She didn’t even want to know what her long hair looked like or just how crusted with sand she really was.

The trees were the first thing her mind wrapped around. There was a striking similarity to trees found closer to New Zealand. Her hands smoothed over the bark and picked at the leaves. Yes, a relative perhaps but such evidence only worried her. There were hybrid trees scattered around the islands taking different forms to each island but as she recalled none like this. New Zealand was quite the distance from where she was and had planned on going, was it possible that she had been cast so far from her destination? It was almost impossible to fathom, she would have had to been unconscious for days if not longer for her to be anywhere near ‘the land of the long white cloud’.

Still the trees provided what she needed and with the slightest amount of force a perfectly formed branch was quickly turned into a makeshift crutch. Not that it helped that much. After a step or two it became apparent that the ground was too soft, the sands shifting providing no support of any kind. “Well so much for that idea.” Cyn almost tossed the stick into the sparse growth of trees but for reasons beyond her she tugged the branch behind her as she continued to limp towards the point.

The island was quite for the most part. Here and there a song bird would sing but there wasn’t enough to go on to even tell what kind of birds were making the noise. The only hope she had was if they happened to be one of the few dozen birds she could identify. Animals were a byproduct to her knowledge, this bird gathered these nuts which reduced swelling so follow them in the fall. Or this bird does this so that such and such (insert medical reasoning) can do whatnot. Sad as it was there wasn’t much about animals that could truly help her with narrowing down where she was.

Maybe fifty feet from the point a human sound reached her ears. As a healer the sound of someone in pain, or what at least sounded like pain, should never bring excitement, joy and happiness but in this case she was overwhelmed. The sound meant that she wasn’t alone and her sluggish hobbles quickened. Her knee that she had worried was a bigger problem than it was turning out to be, thought burned with each step was slowly loosing up.

“HELLO!” The echoes of her cry faded off into the distance and only once it was too late did she wondered if perhaps she should have kept silent and decided upon an action after scouting the source of the human like cry. “Too late now…” Cyn muttered to herself finally rounding the point.

“Samuel Elijah Andrews, you are adjudged to be disloyal to the captain and crew of the Hellcat.” Josiah Blackstone, who claimed to be that captain, cocked back the brim of his feathered cap and struck a confident pose. Even as he looked down upon Samuel, his eyes also panned over the gathered crew.

Sam held his tongue, as much as the pompous words of the back-stabbing windbag raised his ire. His arms were held fast by men loyal to Blackstone, his knees pressed to the deck, but he could see the uncertainty in the shuffling step and nervous eyes of many of the men before him. Sam had to hope that Blackstone was wise enough not to risk another brutal fight amongst the crew should too terrible a verdict be read upon him. His heart so hung on the next words that he could barely could feel the bruises that had come from the past day of questioning at the hands of Blackstone and his lackeys. He glanced towards the nearby island, hoping at what that meant. Even if he could break free of these men and jump the rail, he’d surely be shot dead before he could make shore. But for the Hellcat to even be brought so close to shore... he looked out and for a moment he thought he even heard a distant voice from the island, as if fate was calling to him.

“The punishment for betraying the confidence of a ship has long been death.” Blackstone paused there only long enough to begin to hear some muttering tongues. “But it is also given to the captain to show mercy, particularly in recognition of previous long service.” He nodded to the crew, as if this munificence would bring the doubters round to his command.

“The storm last night was a terror, truly it was, and this ship and this crew have weathered a storm together even worse.” Sam stifled a laugh and the ridiculousness that Blackstone now seemed to consider himself clever-tongued like the old noble who had held command of this same ship not more than two years prior, back when it flew the proper Union Jack. Back when Sam wore a proper uniform rather than the dingy linen shirt and rough, dark slops he had now, when his hair was trim and face was shaved rather than these long shaggy strands and unkempt beard. Back before so much blood had been spilled.

“This morning we see blue skies and have found before us a pleasant bit of green. A place where a man can think over his fate and seek repentance. I hereby consign you to this fair island and God’s mercy. Once we have found our bearings again and repaired our damages, we may return to you and see if time has brought you wisdom.”

Captain Blackstone gave his men a nod and Sam was suddenly pulled up to his feet. Pinpricks of pain shot through his legs as he bore weight. Bare feet half walked, half dragged towards the railing. Sam stared at the island, hoping to hear the tumult behind him that might mean his old friends would not stand to see this injustice done to him, but the best he heard were low wagging tongues.

“Now Sam, my boy.” Blackstone’s voice whispered near behind his head. “You be thinking about whether you really want to keep that old man’s secret, or whether you’d much rather live and share the wealth with me. I’d rather you live, God’s own truth, but if you plan to keep your life you keep a wise tongue in your mouth or I’ll haul you back like a fish and gut you.” And with that he drove his fist hard and fast into Sam’s ribs.

For all the control Sam had held so far, this sudden blow against the aching and bruised body brought forth a cry of pain from deep in his body. It was a sound that he immediately regretted for the pleasure he knew it would bring his tormentor. Sam wrenched his hands free and leaped over the rail rather than be thrown. And so Sam fell towards the waves, his mouth held against all the insults he would have wished to speak but if he didn’t know the consequences. Even as the waves covered him he smiled, holding fast in his right hand the dagger he had wrenched from Blackstone's belt, but which long before had belonged to a better man.

He swam as long and hard as he could beneath the waves, in case his final act of defiance was discovered and guns now were trained upon him. When he rose to the surface his lungs took in great gasps of air, ready to dive again at the crack of a gun, but instead all he heard was the crash of waves and a far away laugh that rang cruel. Soon there was sand under his feet and he struggled up to the shore, only to be knocked down by a large wave just as he felt he was safe. He crawled the last feet up beyond the grasp of the sea, feeling the weight of the water in every inch of clothes he wore. He rolled over on his back to see the Hellcat begin to make way out to sea before exhaustion took him and he passed out.

Was that a... pirate ship!?!?

Rounding the point the last thing Cyn expected to see was something out of a Pirate of the Caribbeans movie.

Wait-!! Of course. It all made sense now. The seemingly deserted island void of any life at all and now the large wooden ship with it's unfurled heavy canvas sails.

"It's a movie set." Feeling silly Cyn approached the beach scanning the water line and the departing ship. Having grown up apart from the 'connected' world she had nothing to base what a movie set might look like but she had thought that there would be more people in the area. Anyone really.

Keeping close to the tree line, Cyn followed the beachline, attention more focused on the ship. She had never seen a ship like that on the water. In books and what few movies she had seen, sure but nothing like her. Her, the ship, was a beauty and something about her sparked something in Cyn's soul. The emotion didn't have a name yet but it was powerful and awaken in her something feirce.

Twenty yards and a darkened shape on the beach finally caught her attention.

It was a person.

"Hey!" Alarmed Cyn rushed towards the breaking waves towards the man. "Please be alive." She prayed falling to her knees besides the stranger. His chest rose slowly and it was just what she wanted to see. "Okay you're alive..." The sigh fell from her lips heavily as she glanced over the man's body. Nothing on the outside seemed wrong with him. Except his clothes. They were strange but she had seen stranger and people in less conditions she knew worked with what they had and most times it was very little.

Not wanting to move him, unsure of the possible injuries Cyn worked with what she had. Finding his pulse Syn counted the time, he was stable. His pulse was steady and strong and his breathing was even. On closer inspection she could see bruises on his face, swollen knuckles, knees raw and bloodied with more minor lacerations scattered over his skin in not so random patterns. It was all signs of a fight and by the looks of it and the evidence of him being left behind, he was the loser.

"So much for the movie idea." Cyn sighed. Looking around she began forming a plan. Standing up she lingered a moment looking down at the unknown man. Everything in her being told her not to leave him but with what she had there was nothing that she could do for him. With a sigh she walked above the water line and wrote out a quick message in the sand.

'Don't go anywhere. I'll be back as soon as I can. Glad you're alive.'

Cyn didn't even know if the man spoke English let alone read it but never the less the chicken scratch for all that it might be worth would ease the man, let him know he wasn't alone. In any case she knew any signs of human life would have made her feel better.

Sam groaned and coughed, the sunlight bright against his eyelids. He instinctively rolled onto his side to shade his face from the sun, feeling the sting of salt and sand on all of the places he’d been roughed up. His hair draped along his face in wet brown locks, smelling of the sea. A short pained laugh came at his frustration at being reduced to such a dirty, beaten man. His small consolation was that how easily the breath came; Blackstone might have been a cruel man, but at least his punch hadn’t managed to break any ribs.

Sam rolled until he was all fours, then with a deep breath sat up. The world swung dizzily for a brief moment then his eyes came back into focus on the most unlikely of sights. Words, written in the sand, in English no less.

Don't go anywhere. I'll be back as soon as I can. Glad you're alive.

His mind raced, the aches and pains of his body no longer worth a thought. He pushed away hair from his face and read the words over and over again. Someone was here. Someone who had seen him come ashore. Not only someone who had command of their letters, but in English. This must be some small settlement of fellow British, so there were further north than he had thought. This was a blessing beyond any he could have asked for, even if he was a man of greater faith.

He shifted his weight and felt a ridge of hardness under the sand. With a quick scramble of sand he found the dagger half-buried beneath his knee. He must have lost grip on it as he dragged himself up the beach. He was lucky not to have lost it, lucky not to have cut himself on it in his struggles. The weapon also reminded him that perhaps a civilized settlement might not think well of an unkempt pirate.

Sam rose to his feet and carefully tucked the dagger into his belt in the small of his back. There were footsteps that came out from the treeline to him on the beach and then back again. The words had told him not to go anywhere, but surely at least getting into the shade would be good. His steps were slow, but in his mind there was more lightness and possibility here than he could have hoped.

It was the simple things that one takes such great pleasure in learning that one often forgets in some fashion or another.

At least that’s the problem that Cyn was running into.

As a child she loved sitting under the coconut trees learning to weave the fronds into hats, baskets, mats and playful animals. In fact it was some of the first lessons she could recall but over time the memories faded, blurred or just disappeared. What had taken her mere minutes to achieve as a child, she found herself struggling with. In the end she had two passible baskets. The smaller of the two was more tightly woven, while the larger one showed more evidence of her difficulties.

That was the first of the many steps to her plan. Next was water, fresh clean water. Away from the sound of the ocean it wasn’t too hard to follow the sound of falling water. Picking a spot over her shoulder, Cyn ventured into the trees making sure to keep true to her beacon marker behind her and adjusting her course to stay on path.

The trees thickened as she strayed from the beach, the sandy ground giving way to rich soil with every step and the call of distant birds become more common and telling as she climbed up the hill. It was a good thing her knees wasn’t as bad off as she had first guess it to be. Not that the hill had any real grade to it but it was a slow climb nonetheless. At the top the trees cleared away and she was given her first look inland. Before her a colossal mountain rose towards the sky, disappearing into the clouds before she could see its end. The sound of water came from a waterfall, higher than any she had seen or heard of before. It was almost impossible to believe and something else Cyn added to her growing list of unanswerable questions.

Well that solved their supply of fresh water. Mentally ticking it off her list, Cyn hobbled down the hill towards the waterfall to what she expected to be a river that lead downstream.

The medical practitioner cringed at the thought of drinking water without first filtering it in some way but the survivalist in her quickly silenced the nagging mothering voice and took greedy mouthfuls of cool water. The water tasted amazing, crisp, light and refreshing. Sitting by the creekside, it was the first time that Cyn felt the scratch of the sand that covered her body. Looking around, not that anyone was near, Cyn slowly undressed and washed out her clothes in the fresh water. Once they were free of sand, pockets turned out and seams rolled outwards she threw them on a nearby tree limb and saw to the next mater, her body.

The nice cool water was no longer her friend as she walked to the deepest part of the creek, it wasn’t much deeper than a bathtub, before lowering herself into the water. “Whooo, man that’s cold!” Cyn cried, teeth snapping shut against the chill of the water. It was almost brutal but within seconds she was feeling better as the sand washed free from her body. If it hadn’t been so cold she would have lingered but there were things to see to and getting sick because she played in cold water too long wasn’t a good idea for anyone.

Risking the unknown, Cyn ventured from the path that she had took to get here and followed the river downstream. Draping her clothes over her shoulder to give them more time to dry, this wasn't the first time she had walked nude through the forest and the lack of human evidence made her feel secure. Along the way she filled her baskets with medical plants, she was even lucky enough to find a perfectly cleaned out coconut shell that she used to hold water. A few more half shells littered the river bank but they were more shaped like cups and bowls, which she happily took but didn’t fill. A smooth rock that fit her palm nicely was added to her baskets, as was a sharp edged seashell she found in the sand. Needless to say by the time she had made it back to the point she had her hands and baskets full.

Just before Cyn rounded the point she stopped and considered just what might be waiting for her down by the beach as she dressed in her mostly dry clothing. The man was a danger, of that she was sure of, a skilled hand at sea was an asset and made the act of deserting questionable at the very least. Of course it could be a case of ‘wrong place at the wrong time’, much like her own reasons for being her but she doubted that. Despite what she thought he was a man injured and in the end it boiled down to someone in need.

Taking a deep breath and hoping for the best, Cyn at last turned the point where she was now in view should the man be awake to see her. It seemed the man was better off than she had hoped as he was not only awake but standing.

“Hello there.” Cyn called out, drawing his attention and putting on her best friendly, harmless smile.

“Hello there.”

Sam’s head turned quickly to the sound of the voice, and a wave of vertigo took him, causing him to waver on his feet. He blinked, and blinked again, and managed to get his balance again. The sand seemed treacherously uncertain beneath him - or was it just his head. The voice, it seemed kindly enough, but as his blurred eyes came to focus on the figure he was still confused.

The figure wore pants and a shirt without sleeves of an unusual cut. The pants were neither being loose like a sailor’s slops nor long like proper trousers, and of an unusual red color. The shirt, if indeed that was even the right word, was patterned in black and red diamonds not unlike he’d once seen on a Jack in a card deck. His brows furrowed in confusion - was this some uniform? The figure’s hair was long and deepest black, the features pretty and feminine. If she had been dark of skin he would have been less surprised, perhaps some strange native half-bloods, but her skin was lighter than his own sun-beaten skin. In Samuel’s experience these things shouldn’t all go together, and reminded him more of some vision from a storybook when he was a boy. What did the old tales say of elves and pixies and such things? Surely the old pastor of his parent’s church would have warned him of temptation, to be sure. It must be the exhaustion of his mind and body, he reckoned, that he was seeing things not as they were.

He pulled himself up to his fullest height and held his shoulders back as if he again stood at attention, some instinct of his to appear as hale and strong as possible. He felt the drag of his half-ruined clothes on his skin. Brine and sand flared small bright pain against the many places he body had been struck, but he strove to keep the sign of any such discomfort from his face. He had to look strong, he reckoned, until he knew before whom he stood. He had hopes that the bluff would work, until he tried to get out words.

“Hello, I am Samuel…” the words croaked in his parched throat and started a hard cough, his body bending with the shock of it, sending him stumbling a few steps towards the figure in red.

He was in rough shape, clothes tattered and covered in sand. At least he was standing, not that she thought that he should be but it was a hope that maybe nothing was broken and he was better off than his appearance gave evidence to. It was a hopeful thought because honestly if anything were seriously wrong with him, with the limited to nonexistent resources she had access to would make any prognoses grave at best.

Now if she had her boat… Her heart clenched painfully in her chest. It was hopeless to hold out on the idea that ‘Firefly’ was adrift at sea, untouched by the storm. If Cyn was going to pray on something so farfetched she also wanted to add that one day her ship would just be sitting there, washed up on some sand bar in the bay waiting for her.

She didn’t want to think what options that left her in life, in debt past her ears and stuck on some island. It was too much to take in all at once, better to just focus on the things that you could do and face the unchangeable at a later date.

Cyn smiled to herself as the man tried to put up a brave front. There was something military born in his stance and she logged the information for a later date, returning to her observation of the man. She knew him to be beaten; if not by the sea, then by the men who left him on this island and by that alone could only guess at the pains he felt. There was a comfort in seeing him moving, confirming that nothing was broken.

His call to attention didn’t hold for very long before he wobbled, quickly steading himself. “Careful Sailor-“ Cyn warned picking up her pace towards him. If he fell and hurt himself she didn’t know who she would be madder at. Him or herself.

Pulling himself together he mouthed some raspy coarse words and something that sounded like a name… Samuel maybe? It was kind of lost on her as her excitement at that he spoke English overcame her. That made things so much easier! She left out a heavy breath, feeling like maybe this wasn’t going to be as impossible as she feared.

She didn’t get any time to process what was sure to be an introduction because before he was even able to finish it, his knees gave out from under him and she rushed to his aid, baskets falling to the ground as she caught him as he stumbled. “Whoa there sailor.” She smiled shaking her head as she tucked herself under his arm. “Maybe we should take a seat?” She nodded towards some harder packed sand out of the reach of the water. She would have liked to make it to the grass but she didn’t want to push her luck and honestly didn’t think she could manhandle him up the beach if he gave out on her part of the way.

“My name is Cynthia DeKnight.” Her tone was soft, gentle and friendly when she spoke to him, leading him slow step by step from the water’s edge. “Your name is Samuel? I had a goat named Samuel, he was a handful.” She looked up at the man nodding to herself. “You look like a handful too…” She laughed. “Think this’ll be good or do you think you ca make it to those trees? And answer me honestly.” Her voice hardened so he could hear just how serious she was.

Samuel would have felt ashamed at his weakness, but for the distraction of his body's weariness and the gentleness of her voice. It was quite clearly a woman now, and an English woman at that, but her accent was strange to him. His blurring mind absently wondered where she might be from - perhaps from one of the more distant colonies? Her easy familiarity and steady strength as she caught him clearly marked her as being someone of at least as common a roots as himself, and one well used to honest labor.

“My name is Cynthia DeKnight. Your name is Samuel? I had a goat named Samuel, he was a handful. You look like a handful too…”

He smiled at that, remembering a goat on their farm when he was just a boy, but managed not to laugh along with her knowing that it would only bring more of the pain of his throat. It felt good to take these slow steps with her support. He hesitantly let his arm close about her half-bare shoulders, not wanting to be overly familiar with this kind woman. After all, he was a strange man to her and surely stank of sea and imprisonment.

“Think this’ll be good or do you think you can make it to those trees? And answer me honestly.”

Sam nodded. He turned his head towards her and whispered, hoping it would save his throat. "Thank you." He managed a hopeful smile. "Water?"

Cyn hesitated. Maybe she should have phased the question a little different as the nod left her with more questions and a lingering feeling that she was pushing him too much.

“Let’s just stop here…” The sound of his sandpapered voice was the deciding factor. “Water, of course.” Cyn helped Sam to the sand, hovering for a moment before retrieving her woven baskets. Sitting down next to Sam, Cyn fished out the smooth stone, halved coconut shell and the water filled coconut and laid them out before her. “This will taste awful, bitter and the after bite is sour but it’ll numb your throat, help with your muscle pains and headache if you have one.” She apologized grinding the Cloudless Flower with her stone in one of the half shells. “I’d drink all down in one mouthful if I were you.” She cautioned adding water to her plant base tea. In a perfect word she would have strained the tea before handing it to Sam but this was far from perfect.

Taking a sip Cyn wrinkled up her face but nodded her satisfaction. “Drink up sailor.” She smile wickedly handing the coconut shell over to the man. Just as soon as her hand was free, Cyn filled the other half shell with plain water. It wouldn’t be much help with the taste but it was at least cool and refreshing.

Taking a sip from the small hole in one of the eyes of the coconut, Cyn let the man be for a second to drink as she had prescribed. Patience was a virtue that she lacked unfortunately and questions that had been hounding her in the back of her mind spilled out all at once.

“Where do you hurt? Do you know where we are? Is there a heaviness or rasp in your lungs when you take a deep breath? Why were you left here? Does anything feel broken?” The questions all tumbled out at once and Cyn shyly smiled as she tried her best to wait for her answers. The ever present voice in her head telling her that the poor man needed rest, not an interrogation.

“This will taste awful, bitter and the after bite is sour but it’ll numb your throat, help with your muscle pains and headache if you have one. I’d drink all down in one mouthful if I were you.”

Sam nodded mutely as he watched her prepare the herb in the coconut. The deftness of her hands spoke to experience and confidence. Her words flowed with a fluency that made it seem she was unlikely of foreign birth, yet he still could not place her. Was she a daughter of a doctor, that she might have such knowledge?

“Drink up sailor.”

His eyebrows raised at her smile, but his own smile matched hers. This was a woman with a sense of humor to match her strange appearance and behavior. He took the half-shell from her, sure that he didn’t want to show any hesitation at her good intentions or his own ability to stomach something that was distasteful medicine.

“Cheers.” His voice scratched more than he would like to make a favorable impression on this unusual young lady. He downed the drink in a long gulp, ignoring its bitterness. He had certainly drank worse when supplies were low, or in an ill-advised dare amongst his once so close fellows. That thought, and the men who let him be thrown out, he set aside and instead reached for the half-shell that held the clearer water. A tingle ran through his mouth and throat, leaving the raw inside of him numbed. No sooner had he begun to sip on this far sweeter refreshment than the questions began to tumble from her lips.

“Where do you hurt? Do you know where we are? Is there a heaviness or rasp in your lungs when you take a deep breath? Why were you left here? Does anything feel broken?”

A short laugh came from his throat, but the tingle and the numbness kept it from hurting. He finished the water and took a short breath.

“My breath comes easily enough. I don’t think anything is broken, or surely I would have felt far worse upon the waves. But I fear I have seen rough treatment in rather more small ways.” He coughed a bit. “And I was rather hoping you could tell me where we are.”

“Shock can mask even the worse of injuries…” She let the words fade off, he was a man to be sure but he didn’t seem too much of a man to put aside his harms just to impress a stranger. The late treatments, those rougher in nature were questionable. Did the men who left him behind torture him in ways unseen? The question only brought about more questions, like why was he tortured if it was the manor of his rough treatment or rather who was this man to be treated so?

Cyn’s brows drew together at the first sign of a frown. So he was just as lost as she was. Great. “I can tell you no more then what you have shared with me. Our current location is lost to us both.” She sighed, slowly stood up and dusted the sand from her bottom. “We have half a day left of sun, let’s hope this isn’t that one lucky island filled with lion, tigers and bears.” Cyn dryly chuckled, resisting the comical ‘oh my-‘ incase fate took offence and it happened that they were on such an island.

As much work that needed to be done, food, shelter, and fire, the sudden impact that they were truly lost washed over her. The winds were pulled from her and a thick lack of motivation set in. “Come on,” Cyn urged holding her hand out to Sam. “That patch of shade is calling my name and I have every intention of taking myself a nap.”

Sam rose to his feed, setting aside a reticence to take her hand and instead enjoying the feel of her fingers in his. His hands were rough and tough from years of handling rope, sails, and not a few weapons but he had not lost the fineness of motion that was needed for the compass and sextant of navigation. He could not help but think that it had been quite some time since he took a woman’s hand, and even longer since doing so was not preceded by an exchange of coin. It was not a thing he was proud of, and indeed it made him all the more want to put aside the ache he felt in his ribs.

The set of his face showed that he missed her reference. “I would not fear, Miss DeKnight. When last I knew we weren’t too far south of Bermuda, and none of the islands there or south have been know to have such creatures. Indeed, the creature we should likely fear most is man.” His voice was still dry sounding, but not as bad as before. “And shade is well loved cover from both sun and the sight of others, bested only by sweet water.”

He looked over at her, his eyes taking in her face as if for the first time. “My apologies at my familiarity, ma’am, but where are you from? I find I cannot place your speech from any of the Crown’s colonies, yet clearly you have a great command of the English tongue.”

Sam was a man of hard work, his hands told her that. It was both expected and guessed as it was a ship he was tossed from but there were hard ridges from ropes that spoke of ages upon wood and floated on seas. Yet there was a gentleness in the way he held her hand, like she was fragile and womanly.

At a point to correct him about her animal joke fell short as his words caught up with her ears.

"Bermuda? Do you mean to say Burma?" Cyn kindly smiled. It was impossible to even put further thought into his claimed location. "I'll give you made is to be feared but then God gave us women and all was saved." She casually joked heading towards the trees. "If sweet water is your satisfaction there is fresh water not too far from here."
Under the shade of the trees Cyn rested for a moment against the rough bark. She really had the best intentions of taking a nap but the doctor in her had a need to grant her one and only patient a bested wish.

Cyn didn't mean for her sigh to be dramatic but it fell from her lips that way. "I wouldn't want to push you too far your current state but I can show you the way if you'd like to a freshwater river."

"Any of the Crown's colonies? What a strange way to put it." It was phrased so strangely that it took Cyn a moment to come to an answer. "From all over really. My parents originated from different states and traveled from one end to another, between the two of them visiting all 50 states at one point or another. As a child I was passenger to all manors of adventures and it wasn't until I was a woman that I returned to the states. It wasn't a long stay before I returned to the wind and seas. So I guess long answer short, everywhere." She smiled.

"And you?" Pushing off the tree Cyn righted herself and headed towards the little creek she had found before. "What's your story?"

“Burma?” Sam’s face twisted into a question. “Is that the name that your people give to it? I can’t say I’ve ever heard anyone from St. George to the Turks ever call it so.” He smiled, seeming to dismiss it as a mispronunciation as she went on to speak of the far more urgent matter of water. He liked the way she spoke, even if her accent was strange, coming with the confidence and wit he found himself warming to at once.

"I wouldn't want to push you too far your current state but I can show you the way if you'd like to a freshwater river."

Now it was Sam’s turn to sigh, though the sound was more of a delighted wish fulfilled. “Now that I would gladly walk over the devil’s own stones to reach.” He had leaned against a tree as she rested, and now made as if to insist he could walk on his own two bare feet unassisted. “It feels good to walk.” He took a few steps. “Well, truly my ache goes down to the very bone, but moving is better than not.” He stretched out his arms, hard with wiry muscle that was marked in places by the paleness of rough-healed scar. The muscles through his arms and back had hauled him through the pounding waves, but now they pounded back at him for their hard use.

He listened to her brief description of her childhood travels, his head slightly inclined, a somewhat puzzled look on his face as she continued. “I’m not rightly sure I know which ‘states’ you refer to, but I suppose I’ve seen at least 50 lands hereabouts from Bermuda to Martinique, and from ruined Port Royal to the sight of old Charles Town. That was the place of my birth, or near enough, though I expect I’ll never set foot there again.”