Regina's jaw clenches as she stoops in the brush, just beyond the sandy beach, watching as a ship nears and praying it'll continue on its way and never dock. Most of the time, that's what happens when she spots a ship on the horizon—it just keeps going until it disappears from her sight.

Most of the time, but not always, and the sinking feeling in her stomach tells her that this time, the ship will dock and usher in all the uncertainty that comes with sharing her tiny island.

Her eyes narrow as she tries to take in the ship's details without moving closer and potentially revealing herself.

The ship looks smaller than the others she usually spots hovering near the island and, though she's not sure, she thinks she sees a gaggle of men hanging off the side, looking at the coast with monoculars pressed to their eyes, inspecting their "discovery."

She rolls her eyes, thinking about how many times her island has been "discovered."

Usually, the discoveries are made by military ships, but this ship seems too small to be one of those. The British flag waves from the top of the foremast, but there are no walled-in decks or visible windows indicating the officers' quarters. She doesn't see any cannons poking out of a gun deck and she doesn't spot gun swings mounted on top of the rails.

And the men hanging off the side look too plucky to be soldiers, and none of them don the red uniform she's come to associate with soldiers.

Biting down on her lip, she bristles.

With military, there's a routine.

They dock their ship and row toward the island in smaller boats. They bring with them their loud guns and loud mouths, and they spend a handful of days stomping around the beaches and jungle. They slash vines with their swords and trample plants with their heavy boots, and terrorize the small animals that are unfortunate enough to come into their path.

But they don't stay, and for the most part, she can stay out of their way.

They raid the coastal village on the opposite side of the island, stealing their food and valuables, and sometimes their people. But at the first sign of bad weather or the roar of one of the large cats that call the jungle home, they flee. They board their ships and sail away in search of a new conquest, and they're never seen or heard from again.

And that's how she likes it.

Passengers, however, stay.

Instead of guns they bring with their bibles and an air of moral superiority with them. They cut down trees and build rudimentary huts that won't withstand a storm. They scavenge for food, plucking berries and making poor attempts at catching fish, and they make the villagers feel sorry for them.

She hates that the villagers always fall for it. She's seen it happen more than once.

They help the passengers build walls around their huts and they help them to reinforce their roofs. They teach them to hunt and fish and store food, and then the passengers insist on offering some form of repayment. Sometimes, that means lessons in civilized life, other times it means lessons in religion. Sometimes, it's darker than that, and sometimes it's a blend of all the passengers have to offer.

And that's always the worst of it.

That's why she's alone...

They don't seem to understand the harm that they do; instead, they seem entitled to it.

They seem entitled to everything.

Her stomach churns as the ship nears. It's too close to the coast to not be coming for it.

Couching lower, she shrinks down and her shoulder rise to her ears. She regrets coming closer for a better look, wishing she'd stayed up on the bluff, keeping a safe distance from the beach. Momentarily, her eyes press closed and her heart beats faster, pounding in her ears as her knees begin to shake.

Ahoy! she hears a man's voice call out, and again, she shrinks back, flinching at her memories and trying to ward them off. She likes that most of the time she doesn't have to think about them, and she hates times like these when they come rushing back to her.

Her heart beats even faster—painfully, like it might explode—and she swallows the breath she's holding.

She can see the passengers now. They're still far off and, at the distance that they are, they look harmless. But she's thought that before, and unlike the villagers, she doesn't make the same mistake twice.

She hears a man's voice call out something—she doesn't hear the words, she couldn't possibly over her heartbeat—and it sends a shiver down her spine.

Finally, as she watches two row boats being lowered down the side of the ship, she edges back and rises. Momentarily her legs feel shaky and she feels exposed; but she knows they can't see her. She's smarter than that—and just as the row boats hit the water, the turns on her heels and takes off running, propelling herself as far into the jungle as she can, and hoping with everything in her that they won't stay long.

Robin yawns as he sits up in bed, feeling vaguely nauseous from the light swaying of the ship.

He and the rest of the expedition arrived two days ago, finding an absolute paradise. From the white-sand beaches to the thick, lush foliage to the colorful birds he spotted flying over head, everything was just so beautiful.

The more he saw, the more he wanted to see, and as he kicks away his blanket and reaches for his glasses, deciding that today was going to be the day he did it. After all, he'd been brought along for the sole purpose of capturing the island's beauty.

He pulls on his pants and a shirt, and hastily shoves his feet into his boots before rising to steal a glimpse in his looking glass. He grins at his appearance. He's decidedly less green and the dark bags under his eyes that arrived a day after the crew set out on the expedition seem to have disappeared—and now that he considers it, he doesn't feel even remotely nauseous.

The voyage was hard on him. Prior to signing up, he'd never been on a boat, much less a ship, and he'd been unprepared for just how unsteady he'd feel. Even when the air was still and the sun was shining, he felt uneasy, like he could never quite gain his footing. He stumbled and swayed whenever he was up on the main deck, and over the course of the six-week voyage, he could barely keep food down. The others on the expedition lightly teased him about his uselessness—or, at least, that's how he chose to take it—often rolling their eyes and muttering comments about tossing him overboard.

But now, he felt refreshed.

The warm tropical air seemed to suit him and now that the ship was docked, he felt less queasy. As he gathered together his things, he could smell the porridge and salt pork cooking up on the main deck and he could hear John and Will planning out their day in the room down the hall, but none of what they wanted to do sounded pleasing to him. They seem more interested in the main land, while he hasn't been able to take his eyes off the island. Their plans were too deliberate and calculated, too. He wasn't interested in the business side of the expedition, and of course, their mission was far different from his. They were reporting back to a colonial governor about their findings and mapping out possible settlements, testing the soil to determine what could be grown and which would be most profitable. He, on the other hand, had paid his own way. He didn't care about cash crops or being rewarded with a lucrative post; instead, he simply wanted to explore and soak in the beauty of an exotic land.

And if he could sell his pictures, that would be an added bonus.

In his bag, he'd already managed to shove his drawing pad and a set of watercolors, a little easel that was relatively lightweight and meant for travel, a journal and pen set, and already, it was bursting at the seams. He had a pouch of crackers that could be attached to his belt loop and a pair of binoculars that could be worn around his neck, but he had no idea how to carry his camera.

He frowned at the contraption. It was bulky and required its own bag. It came with a box of film and a heavy wooden tripod, and figuring out just the right angle and which buttons to press was tricky.

It'd been a gift from his grandmother—or, well, the woman he considered to be his grandmother—and she'd gifted it to him with the exact purpose of photographing this trip. She'd saved for more than a year to buy it for him, and though the Folding Kodak came out earlier that year and was far cheaper, she'd chosen this model because the salesman at the store ensured her that it was the best. She bought him a photograph album, too, that had pre-spaced spots for the 4x5 photo cards.

He'd hate to disappoint her by returning with an empty album.

So, he lifts first bag onto his shoulder and then slings the camera bag across his chest, a low oof sound escaping him as the weight falls to his shoulders. But after a few adjustments, he finds it more comfortable, and when he practices trudging across his room, he doesn't find it all that difficult—of course, the jungle terrain will be more of a challenge, but he decides its a challenge that he's up for.

He ignores Gold and the others jeering at him as he walks down the deck, and offers John and Will a wave, calling out that he'll be back by suppertime as he hops into one of the row boats and lowers himself into the water. Then, as he hits the water, he can't help but smile as thrill runs down his spine. He draws in a long, deep breath and breathes in the hot air, turning his face up toward the sky to momentarily bask in the warmth—and then, after a moment, he rows himself to the coast.

Robin spends the next several hours just exploring. He doesn't set up his easel or pull out his camera, instead, he decides to spend the day taking it all in; then, tomorrow, he'll return to some of his favorite spots to paint and snap a few photographs. After all, there's no rush. The expedition is meant to last months, and today is only the first day. He trudges through the thick foliage, unable to believe how bright and green everything is. He spots vines that look like something from a science fiction novel and flowers in colors he never knew existed. He takes a moment to watch birds soar above the trees and he finds himself mesmerized watching bright orange fish swim beneath the clear blue water.

It doesn't occur to him until he's deep into the jungle that he should be afraid of the poisonous bugs and plants rumored to be here or the animals ready to tear him to shreds. For years, he's read about the dangers of the African continent. Prehistoric bugs and large vicious cats, wild-eyed people armed with spears and plants that could strangle the life out of a human. But all that seemed a bit too far-fetched to be real, and every time it occurred to him that he should be worried, those thoughts were fleeting, quickly replaced by his amazement over how strikingly gorgeous everything was.

It was darker in the jungle than it was on the coast, but everything was still vibrantly colored, and thought he probably should have been more intentional about his path, he couldn't help but let himself wander aimlessly, taking in whatever he could. His eyes were perpetually round and his mouth agape, and more than once he'd tripped over a low-hanging vine of a thick tree root popping up from the earth. He paid attention to every sound and made mental notes of the things he wanted to see again, and the back of his neck prickled with excitement.

All the while, he never saw a soul or any indication that anyone lived in this absolute utopia, and more than once, he wondered if humans had ever even touched this bit of earth. Every now and then, he was reminded that he wasn't entirely alone though. Birds would sing and little animals would scurry out of his path, and every now and then, he felt like a pair of eyes was watching him.

But he saw no one and never dwelled on that particular feeling, he was enjoying himself far too much for that.

A bird called out and he spun around, looking upward to catch a glimpse of it, wondering if its feathers could possibly be as beautiful as its song—and as he did the weight of his camera shifted and his boot caught on a fallen branch. He lost he lost his footing in an ungraceful fall, and though there was no one around to witness it, he felt his cheeks warm with embarrassment.

He sighed as he looked down at his muddy hands, and it was then that he noticed just how blurry they were.

For the first time, he feels panic settling at his core as he spins his head around in search of his glasses. He sees splotches of green everywhere and suddenly, every sound seems augmented. His heart beats faster as he crawls around, patting his hands in the mud as he searches for his glasses—and then, for the first time, he hears footsteps. He looks around wildly, calling out a frightened who's there? that goes unanswered, then as he hears footsteps nearing, he holds his breath and braces himself.

But nothing comes.

No animal roars. No teeth sink into his skin, and as a hand outstretched, he squints, watching his glasses come into view. His brow furrows and he blinks at them, but still not moving to take them and finding that he's not yet able to. All he seems capable of is staring at the thin gold frames as they perch on the tips of a woman's fingers.

For a moment, he doesn't understand, swallowing hard as he reaches for them his heart racing as he tries to find his voice, wanting to thank her for coming to his rescue

But by the time he puts them on, she's gone—completely vanished, like she was never there.