Moana yawned, stretching and climbing to her feet. She peered out of the window of her hut and saw that the sun was barely peeking above the horizon. Thank the gods, she thought as she changed quickly into clothes more appropriate for daytime and left the small building. My favorite time of day
Moana had been living in the tiny hut connected to her family's grand one ever since she had returned from her latest journey exploring the sea with Maui and several islanders. She had settled a new colony on a very promising little island, a difficult thing to do. Now, she was staying at home for a few weeks before heading back out onto the open ocean. While she stayed on her home island, her parents, knowing how much she valued alone time, gave her the hut as a present.
Already, Moana was feeling the tug of the sea, how she wanted to be out and sailing again. Not yet, she told herself. Wait at least another week - then you can go.
The island wasn't nearly awake yet. Since it was quite literally the crack of dawn, nobody but Moana was up. She loved these few hours in the morning that she had to herself. Once, she had shared the morning time with her gramma - but then, of course, the elderly woman had passed away. It made Moana feel closer to her, to uphold one of their traditions.
Today, Moana wanted to watch the sunrise.
She had seen countless of them over her years of island life and, more recently, sailing voyages, but she never got tired of the way the firey ball of light rose above the line on the horizon, painting the sky gentle, beautiful colors and washing everything in a rosy light.
Moana hurried to the beach and sat in the sand, hugging her knees to her chest and watching as the sun slid completely above the horizon. She had almost missed it.
Soon, she heard voices and a shadow fell over her. "Hey, Moana," a fisherman greeted her.
"Hello," she replied. "Think today'll be a good day for fishing?"
"Oh, I'm counting on it," the man replied with a cheeky grin. "You could always come out and try to snag a few."
"I wish," Moana responded. "My day's swamped." It wasn't, not really, but she did have a few duties to fulfill, and killing fish was never one of her favorite tasks. Also, she wanted to go visit her gramma's grave deep in the woods.
"Ah, well. Maybe some other time."
"Maybe." Moana raised a hand in farewell as she started back up the beach and toward the woods.
Moana pushed her way through the trees, brushing spider webs from her face and enjoying the sounds of birds singing their early morning song. She chirped back, a trick her father had taught her, and got a resounding tweet in reply. Stifling a giggle, Moana continued onward.
Finally, she reached her gramma's grave. It was placed next to the cave that had previously held all of the boats from the island's voyaging past. Now, the cave was used by nobody but playing children.
Moana fell to her knees and placed her hands on the sold, rounded stone with her gramma's tattoo, a stingray, carved into it. "Hello, Gramma," she said in greeting. It had taken Moana a while to get used to the fact that she would have to talk to a stone rather than her gramma, but once enough time had passed, she was talking to the grave like it was an old friend.
She chatted about the usual things - how life on the island was, how she enjoyed her solitude, how she already wanted to return to the sea. She shared a few secrets: that she hated fishing, that her mother disliked her father's new advisors, and that her father didn't like her mother's cooking.
Finally, she finished as she always did. "Goodbye, Gramma. I love you. I miss you."
Standing, she stretched, blood flowing back to her legs. She shook out her hands and was about to turn back to the village when she heard a very faint moan. Freezing, Moana listened carefully.
The sound came again. From the cave. Without a second thought, Moana dashed into the cave and down the winding pathway that led to the huge main chamber.
There, she froze and stared in shock at the boy lying on the stone floor.
His skin was dark, much darker than anyone that Moana had seen before. His eyes were closed but moved restlessly - was he dreaming? Or worse, hallucinating? He was on his back, his limbs splayed and his head turned towards her. His fingers twitched slightly every few seconds.
This wasn't a boy that Moana had ever seen on her island, and she had seen all of her people. And he looked to be in trouble.
Moana burst from the cave and dashed for her village. I have to tell Father.