Left Behind

Chapter One:
Long & Lost

Disclaimer: I do not own D-Grayman, Tomb Raider, Jurassic Park/World or any other fandom that will appear in this crossover fanfiction in any way, shape, or form. I also do not own any forms or references of media that are peppered throughout the story either. I do, however, own my original characters and writings, unless otherwise stated.

Warnings: Mentions of death, gore, blood, torture...violence in general. Hence the Mature setting, as well as a few other items that are briefly mentioned.

Full Summary: Allen Walker isn't sure how he got on Yamatai. What he does know is that the Solarii are insane cultists, the strange storms plaguing the island aren't natural, and the dinosaurs roaming about should be long dead. Then there's the feral werewolf helping him, who seems to suffer from some rather "rusty" people skills that leave a lot to be desired. At least she hasn't tried to kill him like the rest of the island's inhabitants. That would be just a bit awkward.

Notes: A crazy crossover story that may or may not appeal to you. Please feel free to leave creative notes, critique, or just general thoughts. I'm open to it all!

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Is it too late to come on home?
Are all those bridges now old stone?
Is it too late to come on home?
Can the city forgive?
I hear its sad song
-Florence + The Machine, "Long & Lost"

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"Lookie here, boys, seems like we got us a live one on our hands!"

The man had appeared out of the foliage with barely a rustle of his announcement. His clothing was weather worn and threadbare, a suggestion of a harsh life. He could see stains of questionable and queasy origins spattered here and there, dark like ink but not with the same texture, not at all. His hair was dark and greasy, his scratchy beard thick. The leer in his eyes and the crooked smirk weren't welcoming either. He had a gun. Allen recognized it simply because he had grown accustomed to their sight over the last several years.

He had his late mentor to thank for that.

He was alarmed when he began to pick out more bodies emerging into sight from the darkness of the forest, some up high on overhanging precipices; several were in trees, and the rest on the ground, flanking the first man. Some had rifles. Others, pistols. He even noticed, oddly enough, some were armed with bows and arrows.

All were aimed at him.

"If this is your welcoming committee, then I shudder to think about the reception of guests you fail to successfully entertain. This is rather poor in taste, if you ask me."

The first man, the leader of the ragtag bunch, scowled and spat out a curse at him. It took Allen a moment to realize he had spoken Russian, the dialect heavy as the syllables growled over one another. It took him another to realize what the man had said.

"Fucking smart ass child. I've shot grown men for less insult."

He jerked the gun in his hand, pointing a vague direction for Allen to move. Allen didn't. Instead, he addressed the man in his apparent native tongue. "Where are you taking me?"

The Russian was unimpressed at being addressed in his mother tongue, even if he did give pause.

"Move!"

The weapon's hammer was cocked back for emphasis, a loud and unsettling click that cleaved the very air with its sound. Allen warily stared at the dark metal object, knowing full and well how dangerous guns were. He had his mentor to thank for those lessons as well. He startled when one of the men suddenly pitched forward with barely a grunt and hiss of air issuing from his mouth. He fell forward, his weapon—a rifle—clattering to the forest floor with a loud clatter, tangling in the undergrowth. An arrow protruded from the fallen man's backside.

The Russian barked at his men, stirring them into action and they scrambled into organized chaos. The Russian turned on him, the barrel of the gun reestablished on him. He hissed away, stalking forward to close the gap between him and Allen.

"She's come for you, boy," he growled, a dark light sparking in his eyes. "I'll kill you before she gets a chance to even see your face."

Allen struck fast and hard. No doubt the Russian was taken aback by the sheer speed of the Exorcist. He fired his gun both in panic and resolution, but all went sailing harmlessly into the dark forest, nowhere near hitting the Exorcist. The gut punch had the taller man doubling over, wheezing heavily at the strike. Allen wasn't aiming to kill or maim the man—simply disarm him and relocate. The Russian's grip on his gun hadn't broken, but he was too busy catching his breath to notice. He never got the chance to, either.

Another arrow whizzed out from the dark and struck the Russian's neck, punching through from the back to the front, an arrowhead sprouting out of his throat. The gun fell from abruptly limp fingers, and then the Russian followed suite with a strangled gurgle. Allen stumbled back, in horror and shock. The light in the Russian's eyes went out and he wheezed his last breath, blood bubbling from the oozing wound as he collapsed on his face.

The forest fell silent and it was in that moment he realized all the men that had appeared from nowhere were dead.

All of them.

An unsettling silence had fallen over the forest, and the shadows around him seemed to grow darker, longer, reaching for him. The hairs on the back of his neck rose up and stood at attention while an icy shudder snaked its way down his spine.

He jumped, his left arm transforming in an instant. His fingers lengthened out into daggers, the dark blades gleaming in what little light the moon above provided. The familiar weight of a snowy white cowl and cloak settled around his shoulders, providing a comforting sense of security and protection as it did. For now, he kept the masquerade mask off his face, scanning the area.

He felt eyes on him, but how many and from where, he wasn't too sure. He just knew that whoever killed the men, they were still here. Allen didn't have long to wait. He whirled at the first sign of movement, cloak snapping, but he stopped short of himself in surprise at what he faced.

It was a slip of a young woman, not much smaller than he was. She was dressed sensibly enough to move fast and not allow herself to be caught up by snagged clothing. It was all form fitting without being too tight on her, but there was a bulk to her build and he saw why. The silhouette of knives strapped at her sides, a rifle on a sling over her shoulder, a quiver of arrows belted at her hip, and a bow held casually in one hand, a pistol in the other. She cleared the area with the pistol, watching for any unwanted movement before holstering it at her back when she deemed it safe.

The strangeness didn't stop there. Atop her head was a pair of doggish triangular ears, on a constant twitch and swivel routine, while a tail was at her backside, stiff and erect and puffed out. It swayed back and forth in agitated arcs, slowly settling. If she had been an actual dog, he probably would have kept his distance. When she stepped closer and into a clearer line of sight, he saw that her feet weren't covered in furs and boots like he had at first believed at first glance—her feet were actual paws. Each toe was tipped in sharp claws.

The woman ventured closer, her posture still tense but it had relaxed greatly in comparison to the few steps she had taken when she arrived. She was showing she wasn't an enemy by holstering her weapons, but she would still ready at the drop of a hat to jump into action if things went south. He could sense all of that just by the way she held herself.

When a shaft of silvery moonlight washed over her face, he caught a glimpse of a scar and her eyes shone like an animal's—but it was a blink-and-miss moment. He took an instinctive step back and she stopped. She slowly reached to sling the bow on a holster on her back, leaving her hands open and free. Her eyes never left him. He returned the same courtesy.

"These men would have killed you if I hadn't intervened. The Solarii aren't known for their kindness and mercy. Negotiating with them is impossible when they've been trained to kill without hesitation. Especially if it looks like you're going to fight back." She started in way of greeting. The woman tilted her head to the side. "Surprised they delayed so long in shooting you. Good thing they did. Gave me time to get here."

He was still tongue-tied at the suddenness of the events that had transcended within the span of a few sparse minutes.

She turned, motioning for him to follow.

He trailed after her with uncertainty in his steps. "Wait—wait! Where am I? Who are these Solarii? And what's your name?"

The woman craned her head to peer over her shoulder at him. Her gaze was steady and even, unfaltering as she studied him. They passed through the undergrowth for several minutes in silence before she answered him.

"You're on an island called Yamatai. It's in the Dragon's Triangle, west of Japan. The Solarii are…shipwreck survivors. They're a band of murderers that have laid claim to the island, killing or recruiting any men who wash up on shore. They burn any women they come across."

A sour taste coated the back of his throat and his stomach turned uneasily at that. He didn't remember how he'd gotten here, and he wondered if he was alone.

I think I am, but…no. Oh no, please. Please don't let the others be here.

"Have…have there been any others…?" He couldn't finish. The woman seemed to take that as a cue.

"Like you? No. You're the only one I've come across, dressed as you are."

There was little relief in her answer. It only meant he was the first, and that the others might very well be here.

The woman unclipped something from her belt and waggled the item. It was an oval-shaped device, black and ringed with perhaps a white or yellow stripe. A thin tube stuck out from its top.

"The Solarii get riled up when others are spotted on the island. No doubt they've already gotten on the horn and started bleating like the mindless sheep they are to others on their radios about you." She continued as they began climbing up a small incline. The trees were thinning, and there was a path up ahead, and it looked like there was an old bridge they could cross. "You're the only one right now. If there were others, I would have heard about them on this."

He didn't feel very reassured, even with that statement. A thought occurred to him.

"You never told me your name."

They came across the bridge. It might have once been painted a pleasing, imperial crimson red, but time had taken its toll on it. Still, it was intact and spanned over the length of a small pond. The night critters had begun their hushed chorus and he had barely noticed until then.

"It doesn't matter."

"But then, what do I call you? My name's Allen Walker."

When she walked, she was quiet, except for the faintest click of claws on wood. Even that was muted. She moved with the purpose to be as quiet as possible. He sought to do the same, in case they ran into any more of those Solarii men. He didn't fancy having another dozen guns pointed at his person, thank you very much.

"And I told you…it doesn't matter. I don't remember what I used to be called anyway."

"I…" He stared after her backside, lost for a moment at her aloof attitude. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean…"

"There's nothing to apologize for. I don't really care to remember. Call me what you want. It won't matter once I get you off this island."

He stopped halfway across the bridge, startled.

"There's a way off?"

She paused at the end of the bridge and turned a little to view him more properly. "Yes. There's a boat. I'll have to fix it, but I need to take care of a few things first."

"Anything I can help with?"

"No. Let's go. I have a safe place you can stay in for the time being while I take care of it all."

"Are you sure there isn't anything I can help with? Please."

"There's nothing you can do, except do as I say. And I want you out of harm's way." She eyed him a little more critically, her mouth pulling into a shrewd, thin line. "Trained fighter or not, I'm not risking a stray bullet hitting you in the head."

He startled, realizing he still had his Crown Clown activated. With barely a thought, he willed it away. The blades on his fingers flickered out of sight and he clenched his fingers and rolled his shoulder. The cowl and cloak faded from sight, like it had never existed. She gave a small nod and turned, motioning him to keep following.

"I can help," he pressed insistently.

"No, you can't." She said it in such a matter-of-fact tone, it grated on his nerves. He started after her, silence be damned if it meant catching up.

"And how do you know? You don't know me, or what I can or can't do. I can do quite a lot."

"I know you won't kill another human being, even if your own life was in danger. I have nothing for you to do if you can't even lift a hand to save yourself beyond disarming the human monstrosities that crawl all over this island." She glanced at him as he dropped back, his steps faltering until he stopped. "If you could do that, then you would have done so back there. Those men would have been dead before I met up with you. That's how I know you can't do what I need done to get you out of here. It's kill or be killed on this island. Not disarm and run away."

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They moved across the island and it took most of the night to do so, if only because of the island's geography itself. He didn't get to see much other than old ruins, forest, and the tall imposing presence of the mountains that surrounded the island. He wondered just how many people had once inhabited this place. He could make out the ruins of Japanese homes and structures and grey slabs of concrete from an unknown time. It was hard to make out details and he wondered aloud if they could light a torch to better see by. The woman shot down the idea almost immediately.

"The human eye can detect the flame of a matchstick from a mile away. A torch would attract a lot more attention. I don't want us getting shot at."

She said nothing more on the matter, so neither did he. He quickly realized that once she shut up on a subject, the subject itself was closed from discussion for good. She was about as charming as Kanda and as tight-lipped on personal information as Lavi. The thought of any of them left him feeling sour and worried, but he didn't let it show. Not to this woman who wouldn't—or possibly couldn't—give him her name, if she was to be believed that she didn't remember it. He tried not to worry, but it ate away at him. More than once, when they stopped so she could gather their position, he had tried to summon a gate to the Ark, but to no avail.

The same mysterious and troubling force or power that had spirited him away and left him here had somehow cut off his ability to call for an easier way off this island. It was frustrating, to put it lightly. Infuriating, to put it another way. Whoever or whatever it was—he was content to lay blame on the Millennium Earl and the Noah until proven otherwise—that had left him here, they were going to pay dearly. If this was their idea of a strange joke, he found no humour in it.

Especially when he was paired with a woman who seemed to have no sense of humour in the first place.

The sun was coming up just as they had made their way down the mountains and into the foothills of a forest filled with spruce trees. The evergreens towered above them, silent and resolute sentinels that stood guard as they overlooked the island. She led him into their embrace, back into the shadows and away from the soft tendrils of light.

"Where are we now?"

"Still on Yamatai."

"I meant, where we are on the island."

"I know."

He stood corrected. She had a sense of humour.

Allen opened his mouth to speak, but clamped his mouth shut almost as quickly, his teeth clacking as they hit one another at the noise of a soft but audibly menacing growl. The woman stopped walking and so did he. He looked to her, to get a read on how she reacted. She knew the island better than he did, apparently, and that included its various threats. That could include the naturally inclined type.

She did nothing.

It didn't reassure him.

The growl came again. It was a deep noise that thrummed through the very air, vibrating down to his very core. It was the sound that originated from a gargantuan creature, yet he saw no animals anywhere. None that could issue such a sound, that is.

The woman moved forward as a third growl spat itself into the air from its unknown source. She walked with purpose in her step, deviating from the path she had set them on.

"Carmilla," she called to the open air. "Stop hiding."

On the fourth rumble, he finally saw what he failed to the first time. The air in front of the woman rippled. The lowest branches of the trees shifted and shivered. The trees themselves shook, as though a great weight was pressing up against them. The pine needles above were rattling. Scales took place of bark and pine and open air. A long spine crested up and over the tops of the lower branches, disappearing from sight into the higher foliage. Rhythmic breaths poured in and out of huge lungs, housed within the giant of a creature that was revealing itself.

The forest background began to peel and fade away from brilliant jades and emeralds to a dusty grey, and the starkly dark umbers did the same, lightening until all there was a crisp stolid white. The creature shook away the impressive camouflage of its very own scales and into what Allen was assuming its natural colouration. The very earth trembled with every step as it ducked around a copse of trees, revealing an angled, almost avian skull with red eyes and an alarming amount of teeth lining its jaws. Spiny protrusions stuck out of the back of its head and along its neck, further emphasizing the 'Something Big and Toothy to Run Away From Really Fast' image.

The giant of a monster looked like it could scoop the woman up in its huge jaws, swallow her whole, and ask for seconds, thirds, fourths, and so much more.

"What…what is that thing?" His voice came out tight and strained, he almost didn't recognize it.

"Thing? How rude." The woman snorted. The creature lowered itself until it was on all fours, pressing its head closer toward the woman with a low rumbling hum from deep in its chest. Allen realized it almost sounded like it was…purring. The woman was rubbing the giant skull with her hands, the sounds of soft flesh rubbing along hard scales poignant as it hung in the air.

"Her name is Carmilla. She's a dinosaur. Say hello, Carmilla."

Carmilla roared her hello, showing off her dagger-long conical fangs and the gaping maw that could most definitely swallow the woman and Allen whole at the same time. Allen remained frozen to the spot he stood. He was acutely aware of the red gaze that watched his every move with equal and unnerving scrutiny.

"You're kidding me. A dinosaur? It…I mean, she's a dinosaur? But…that's impossible. They're extinct."

He had a difficult time wrapping his mind around the idea of an extinct animal living and breathing right in front of him. But then again, the existence of Akuma and Innocence and the Secret War quite possibly would be just as mind-boggling to her if he revealed it all.

"Tell that the scientists who brought her to life," the woman stated clearly. Carmilla purred, red eyes closing as she nudged the woman with her gigantic skull. Hot breath poured out from her gaping jaws, and sharp gusts of air shot from her nostrils. One red eye peeped open when the woman knocked her knuckles gently on the crest of the dinosaur's nose. She flicked her hands in the air, her fingers dancing with little waves and gestures. "Hello, old friend. Cover our backs, would ya?"

Carmilla rumbled and lifted away, up and up and up until she was towering above them both. Her front limbs curled close to her chest, scimitar talons curving into the fold as she turned away. The ground thundered beneath her every step as she moved aside and let them pass.

"She's…I mean, this is incredible. How is she…?"

"Alive? Existing?" The woman paused to glance over her shoulder. "Not attacking and tearing us limb from limb and eating us alive?"

"Er…well…"

"I speak dinosaur. That tends to help."

"You…"

He didn't know what to say to that. Neither was he entirely sure if she was being serious or if she had somehow dug out that sense of dusty old humour again and brought it to the light for a rare excursion out.

"I think I should clarify. I understand her body language. I know the context of her growls and squeaks and roars. And because she has a higher-than-average intelligence for an animal her size, she can understand and comprehend sign language and spoken language, although she's mostly limited to English. I'm trying to broaden her understanding beyond English, though, like Japanese, Russian, Spanish. It's slow going, but she can recognize enough of each to determine friendly from threatening words."

"That's amazing. Are there any more like her?"

He scanned the area for good measure, and was surprised when Carmilla had disappeared from sight. How could something so large simply vanish so easily?

"No. Although there are other large predators, like Báthory, the old lady tyrannosaurus. She's not as big or as smart, but she can be meaner. She's somewhere around here, I assume. Or she might be terrorizing the Solarii somewhere else."

Their excursion through the forest continued on for another hour. A soft fog had rolled in, casting everything in a mixture of grey shadows and feeble sunlight. The woman paused at the crest of a hill where there was a break in the forest and they could gaze down on the valley below. Allen felt a lump form in his throat when he swept his gaze across the way.

"What…what is that?"

"A shantytown. And up there's the palace," she motioned upwards and just as she said, there was a grand Japanese palace just sitting at the top of the mountain, connected between peaks by long and impressively huge bridges. "That is where the Solarii stronghold is."

"Is it—are we safe, being this close to them?"

"On this island? Never. At the moment? For your comfort, I'll say yes."

"That's not entirely comforting."

"Then don't ask."

He pulled a face as she turned away from him, motioning for them to continue moving. He shot a nervous look over his shoulder back toward the shantytown, but startled when Carmilla took the valley's place, her sides heaving with each breath she took. Otherwise, she remained still and unflinching, softly growling as she stared with her unnerving red eyes. Her nostrils flared as she gushed out an especially loud breath at him. Allen hurriedly turned on his heel to trot after the woman.

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"This…this place. It's…"

"A mess. Feel free to be honest. Don't sugarcoat it."

The woman had led him through the forest and through the mountain paths above until they had come upon a thin, hidden winding trail. It led up and up until they came upon a solid wall of metal instead of stone imbedded into the mountain, tucked away out of sight and out of mind. The metal wall itself looked as though it had been cobbled together and welded from different sheets to achieve its solid standing. After unlocking a metal door, she led him inside and the sight within made him stop in his tracks, even more so than the sight of the metal wall.

Inside it was a cave. Of course, it was a cave, what else had he expected inside a mountain? But it wasn't dank and dark and depressing. There were signs of life and living within. The main chamber was huge, with the ceiling vaulting upwards high above them. A second deck cobbled together of wood hung over one of the walls. Beneath the wooden deck, there was a natural shelf of rock that held a single weapons rack, and every inch of space held what looked like rifles. He's only ever seen a few in his lifetime, but he knew for certain they were more advanced than the ones he could recall. Above the rifles hung a deer skull, and from its impressive tines dangled all sorts of baubles, beads, shells, and trinkets on leather cords.

There were boxes and crates and storage footlockers off to his left, locked up tight to contain their hidden treasures from sight. To his right, a cozy enough set of couches and squishy armchairs hung around a table. In the center near the shelf and weapons rack, a campfire with a ring of old stumps and a pile of freshly chopped firewood sat. It was currently out, but there were plenty of candles alit in the chamber. Allen could make out hanging curtains along the walls, and it took him several moments to realize they were leading to other chambers, effectively creating a series of caves instead of just one central home base.

It was, all in all, surprisingly cozy despite his earlier apprehension in coming inside.

He jumped at the sound of a cough-bark bursting through the relative silence, echoing relentlessly in the enclosed space. It was a sound he's never quite heard before, but the woman didn't appear concerned. Of course she wouldn't, this was her living space. Her home.

After the initial shock and awe of the sight, the details began to sink in. The battered and derelict state of the furniture, the weathered clothing she wore, the sheer amount of weapons she actually had—he spotted at least two more bows, several quivers filled with arrows, a few pistols on various surfaces, and quite a lot of knives of varying sizes, length, design. He even saw a few swords similar to Kanda's—long and short in length, both. Katanas, he remembered they were called.

She was prepared to wage war, it almost seemed. A one-woman army, with no help, if the lack of signs from other people was any indication. She really was alone.

It suddenly felt very sad.

The cough-bark came again and this time, he saw what the source was.

Something large lurched out of one of the curtained off tunnels and into the main chamber towards them, homing in on the woman. She turned on a dime toward it, and the creature came to a very sharp stop, giving Allen a good look at it now.

It was a tall, bipedal creature, all sleek feathers, scaly feet, tiny avian eyes, and of course it was riddled with teeth and nasty looking claws. That included the ones on its feet. One pair of claws was huge and curving, its toe uplifted off the ground. He would hate to be on the receiving end of those things. Whenever they flicked against the stone flooring, it clinked and echoed slightly. One of its front limbs, he noticed, was in a makeshift sling, bandaged up with a splint. The creature purred, rubbing its face against the woman, and she returned the gesture.

"Hello, Clover. How goes it?"

The animal in question timbered softly in response, which slowly rumbled out to a content purr. The woman checked on the bandage and the splint, ignoring the snot-snarling the creature gave her when she obviously did something it didn't like.

"Don't sass me, Clover. You're not going back out there. Not until this arm of yours is fully healed. It's still fractured."

The creature—Clover—spat out another snarl, baring sharp teeth and gushing hot, rancid breath over the woman's face. The woman in question was unimpressed. She clucked her tongue and flicked Clover on the nose. The feathers that covered Clover—all shades of dusty grey and dappled light greens—puffed up. A crest rose up high and he was reminded of some parrots he'd seen during his travels and training. A cockatoo, he believed it had been called. It would flash its crest, as though it reflected its mood—surprise, happiness, even anger.

He was willing to bet Clover was surprised more than anything, because she stopped her sounds altogether for half a heartbeat.

"Git. Go on, git. I said rest, and rest is what you're gonna have. Now git."

Clover flashed her all-too-sharp teeth in the woman's face, beady avian eyes retracting to mere pinpricks before pivoting with another gruff snarl. Clover promptly stalked away, but not before clubbing the woman in the face with a heavy, feathered tail. The woman spat, disgruntled for only the moment. She sighed once the creature was gone.

"Well, now that that's over…" She motioned to the battered couch. "Mi casa es su casa."

"Sorry?"

"It's Spanish. Means 'make yourself at home'."

"Oh. Right."

He frowned when she declined to do the same, so he remained standing, watching as she moved to trade out the bow she carried with another that was lying around. He gave the place another cursory look.

"What exactly was that thing? Another dinosaur?"

"Yes, actually. Good eye."

"But…that one had feathers. And the other one didn't."

"Good eye, again. Carmilla is a mutt. She was made in a lab. Created. Crafted from different building blocks of different animals, both living and prehistoric. She has raptor and tyrannosaurus DNA inside her. I think I identify a few other types of theropods, although what species, I'm unsure of. But I know she absolutely has trace amounts of others in her. Clover, on the other hand, is a pure-bred Dakotaraptor. Very feisty, very dangerous. Don't piss her off."

"Does Clover also speak what Carmilla speaks?"

"The signing?" The woman paused as she tested the bowstring. "Hmmm. Yes, she can understand it. But Clover isn't capable of creating too many signs herself. She doesn't have the wrist capabilities. See? Like the wings of a bird, she doesn't have the same range as a human would. Carmilla does. She has opposable thumbs and a wider range of motion with her wrists, which gives her a distinct advantage over raptors. But they are all rather intelligent and can understand, to a degree, what I say. Body language is also important."

"I would imagine."

Body language had always been a large part in the circus, he remembered, with the lions, the tigers, the elephants, even the performing dogs. They all depended on cues from their tamers, although their words also held an impact during performances and training alike. It held true everywhere else as well, it seemed.

"It's amazing," he said with a grin. He couldn't help it. Dinosaurs—living dinosaurs! Now that the shock had worn off and he wasn't anywhere near their teeth and claws, he felt he could actually process the idea more properly. "How is that they're alive? Have they been here all along? What other kinds are on this island? I can't imagine so many predators would be alive to reach adulthood if there wasn't a steady food supply!"

He wasn't a scientist, far from it. And as far as he remembered, he hadn't been an entirely big enthusiast on dinosaurs—but that was probably because they were all long dead and gone, nothing but bones on display in museums. Seeing them in the flesh and apparently with feathers as well, he felt a childish excitement bubbling in his chest. He's already seen two of them and they were both quite alive and thriving. Not to mention, they both seemed to listen to this very strange woman. That alone was exciting enough. He wondered if anyone else was as privileged. Besides the Solarii—he had a feeling that after the initial shock, the Solarii wouldn't have been as mystified by a group of dangerous predators that were most likely sent out to kill them by this woman.

The idea suddenly didn't seem as magical now.

She tilted her head at him as he blurted out his questions, carefully and slowly returning the bowstring to its ready position.

"It doesn't matter," she said to him, clipping it to the holster she had the last one on. "You're not staying here to find out all that much. Now, if you'll just hang tight, I'll be back in a few hours."

"Wait. Do you…do you have anything to eat? I'm a bit famished."

That was an understatement. He was starving. Like his current predicament and how exactly he had ended up on this island, he couldn't pinpoint the last time he'd eaten. He was willing to safely bet that it has been a few days.

The woman looked annoyed one moment, resigned the next. Carefully, she began undoing the sling that held her rifle and unbuckled the holsters to her knives and the pistol at her back. The quiver with its arrows were left where they were, and the bow re-slung. Lastly, she crossed the room to search the scaffolding and storage units, until she moved to a locker and pulled something out. When she came back to him, she held out the object and he took it, bemused at first.

"It's a radio, like mine. Depress the button on the side there before you speak into it. Use it in emergencies only. The channel sometimes interferes with Solarii stations; if you talk, they'll hear it. Try to be sparing."

"Wait, what do you mean, 'use it in emergencies only'? Where're you going?" He was a little alarmed and moved to follow her, but the aloof stare she pinned him with made him stop instantly.

"I'm going hunting. If you tag along, you'll end up scaring off the prey animals. I'll be back soon."

Allen cast a quick gaze over his shoulder at the startling noise of a long, drawn out hiss from behind him. He whirled to see Clover peeping out of the cave she'd gone through and staring at him with narrowed, avian eyes and a puffed out coat of feathers, making herself look larger.

"What about her?"

"Clover won't hurt you, so long as you don't threaten her. If anything, she'll keep you safe. Even if she is a little banged up, she can dish out some nasty punishment. You'll keep an eye on him, won't you, Clover?"

Clover cough-barked twice. She dissolved in a steady stream of purrs right after.

"That means yes. Just…don't leave here. If you do, I'm not going to waste my time and resources looking for your dumb ass. Also….see those rifles over there? Underneath the deer skull?"

He clacked his mouth shut in a clench at her insulting remarks, but nodded nonetheless when she gestured to the aforementioned rifles.

"Don't pick any of them up. I've rigged them to blow if you don't take them out in a precise order. It destroys this cave and anyone stupid enough to try and rob me. It also buries my assets to prevent anyone from getting the weapons and ammo and using them against me. If I can't get to them, then no one can."

He was somewhat mortified at that. He glanced more warily at the rifles and the rack they were so meticulously hanging from now.

"Aren't you afraid of doing that yourself?"

"No. I'm more worried about nosy guests and the Solarii alike stupid enough to attempt to rob me doing that than I ever would myself." She tapped her temple with a finger. "I got it all memorized up here about which order it is. It's a need to know basis and you don't need to know."

She saluted him with her bow and headed for the fortified exit. The moment she was gone, he truly felt alone—that is, he did feel all alone until he felt a hot gush of breath against the top of his head and a soft squeal behind him.

Clover towered over him with a display of sharp teeth in his face when he whirled with a yelp.

OoOoOoOoOoO

She returned right before evening began settling in. She had said only a few hours, but nearly the entire day had gone by. He couldn't really tell being behind a solid wall of stone and steel, however. He only knew because of the lighting outside when he had arrived and when she had returned.

Clover alternated between the adjoining cave-room she had been in when he arrived and the larger chamber Allen occupied. Once, he tried to follow the raptor and once was all he needed. Clover promptly turned him on his backside with a squealing howl of rage at his attempt.

He promptly turned his attentions to exploring other available adjacent caves. One was obviously the woman's living space. There were more bows inside, at least three of them, and almost a dozen quivers with possibly nearly a hundred arrows at her disposal. Each looked like they had been handcrafted, except for the large black metal bow with its twined metal wire bowstring. It looked powerful.

Her bed was simple, a nest of furs really, although there were plumes of long feathers he presumed from Clover that lined the nest. There was a squashed little dresser in the corner, and on the top of it was at least two more knives, the skulls of little animals, a few statues depicting a regal woman (most of the details and features were sadly worn with age), and a small vanity mirror. There were locked metal lockers lining the wall, alongside wooden crates filled with dozens of odd baubles and trinkets, books and scrolls and tomes of varying sizes, treasures of all kinds, candles on any available surface—all were unlit, most were melted and he had to bring one in just to see anything—and of course another skull mounted on the wall. This one was large and strange, however. It was huge—with a concave frilly skull that was probably as long as he was tall horizontally across and perhaps taller than he was. Two long and enormous horns sprouted above the eye sockets. A third much smaller and thicker horn was mounted above the huge, beak-like mouth. Paint covered the surface of the bone, strange symbols and symmetrical patterns all around. It was strangely beautiful, in a macabre sort of way.

He left her chambers and continued his search. He found another cave with small scraps of food. He helped himself, a little guilty at first, but knew she would be back with more food. Another cave revealed a bathing chamber. It looked like the water leaked from a hole near the ceiling, and she had managed to dam it up. He wondered if she had a way of draining the basin of water too, but it was too dark to see. He couldn't tell if this room served as a place to go to the bathroom as well. It was something he'd have to ask as soon as she came back.

In the midst of his exploring, she had returned. He didn't know when, but when he came back to the main cave, she was there, collapsed on the couch, doing something to her side. In the soft amber glow of the candles, he couldn't tell what it was at first, not until he got closer. That was when he saw the blood all along her side, her hands. Clover hovered around her, snuffling the top of her head softly with her breath.

"Git. Clover, git. I got this, I go—aaaahhhh…ah. Ffffffucking hell…those fucking assholes, shooting me..."

He could see her hand shaking as she used a tool in her hands to yank something out of her side and he hurried over. She saw him and groaned quietly, gritting her teeth tightly.

"What happened?" He tried not to sound so alarmed, but he was probably failing. Seeing his host—and the only person who he could consider an ally at this point—injured had put him on edge suddenly. She, on the other hand, was not as worried.

"Ambush on the south side, in the coastal forest. Assholes. Nearly lost the deer twice carrying them back here."

The woman motioned vaguely to the side with a blood-covered hand. He glanced over and he saw a large, formless mass off to the side. He squinted, making out soft fur, an antlered head—no, two heads—and eight legs. Two deer. She'd brought back two of them. Clover huffed and squealed, dancing on the spot. The woman waved again.

"Go. Go eat. Take one, leave the other, Clover."

Clover was off the moment she'd said 'go', charging forward with renewed vigor. The raptor latched onto one of the legs of the deer—easily smaller than she was—and tugged hard, dragging it across the cave floor. He averted his gaze, trying not to lose his appetite at the sight as Clover drug the deer out of sight and into her own designated cave.

He turned back to the woman instead, seeing she had laid down her tool on the coffee table and was standing, a hand gingerly pressed to her side. Allen still felt uneasy at the sight of the blood at her side and annoyed at her nonchalance about her injury. He tried to bury it when he spoke again.

"Do you need any help? Bandages, medicine?"

"I'm fine."

"But you were shot!"

"And now I'm healed. See?" She removed her hand and lifted her shirt just enough to show the bloodied skin beneath, but…no wound. No injury. Nothing but healed skin. But underneath all that…underneath the blood, he could see traces of scar tissue, unevenly healed along her belly in jagged lines and—then it was gone again, hiding underneath her shirt.

"How…?

"I'm not human. You suspected as much, but you didn't say anything. Go on, you can admit it."

He frowned at her chiding tone at first.

"I didn't know if that was something I should have brought up at all quite yet," he intoned carefully. "It seemed a bit rude to accuse my host as being something other than human."

"I accuse myself of not being human. And it's not so much as an accusation as it is a fact. I'm a werewolf. No, I don't eat humans nor do I bite them and run off to allow them to suffer the same troubles that I do. I change under the full moon into a wolf monster, and have many advantages over humans, accelerated regenerative abilities being one of them." She assessed his confused look before amending with, "I heal very, very fast. The moment I pulled that arrowhead out, my body was already healing around the wounded tissue until it was like I was never injured."

"Oh…I've never met a werewolf before. I once thought I'd met a vampire, but it turned out he wasn't one. He's a friend of mine, now." He paused. "Are there other werewolves?"

"Here? No. Out in the world? Yes. I don't know how many. In fact, I don't know any other werewolves, period. They're all assholes, frankly. Although I am too, come to think of it. At least I don't eat people."

She moved away as she spoke, toward the deer left lying on the cave floor. He stared after her, suddenly very wary but still fascinated. He watched as she picked up the deer by the antlers and dragged it out toward the burnt out campfire. He was surprised at the lack of blood, until she spoke aloud, as though reading his thoughts. Could she read thoughts? He hoped not.

"I drained the blood of both deer before I was ambushed. I didn't want to be tracked back here by leaving a trail. It took a while, but it's worth the extra precaution. Plus, there's less mess for me to deal with back here. I'm gonna cut this sucker up now, skin the fur and later on boil off the rest of the gristle we don't eat off the bones. Some organs we can eat and some we have to dispose of—I'll give those to Clover's pack mates when they stop by." She paused as she drew a knife from a sheath strapped to her thigh. It was long and bone-white with a metal edge. The hilt handle was leather, but the pommel—it looked like actual bone. "If you can get me some fresh firewood from over there, and then the big meat spit I have in the room in there, the one with the blue curtain. That would be great. The sooner we get the meat on the spit, the sooner we can eat."

He moved at her direction, bringing her firewood and even a candle to help light it up. She waved that away however, and sent him scuttling off toward the aforementioned cave, one of the ones he hadn't yet explored. Inside were all sorts of tools, some for hunting, others for digging, scavenging, and other manners of jobs. He quickly returned with the large, metal contraption she spoke of: the meat spit. It was surprisingly lightweight but it was cumbersome as he carried it into the main cave, setting it beside the campfire that was now blazing. The wood crackled and popped merrily away, while the woman had gone to work on the deer carcass.

True to her word, there was very little blood left to make a mess as she skinned it first, setting aside the pelt as she did, and then split open the ribcage to carefully extract the organs out. She had, at some point in his absence, gathered bowls of varying sizes and put the organs in them. She worked quickly, proficiently, and without pause until she had sizeable chunks of meat skewered on the spit he had brought. The meat sizzled as juices dribbled onto the fire below, making the fire itself hiss and spit even louder than it had before.

"Now, I hang the pelt to dry. I'll do the nastier work later on, like removing the brain and eyeballs from the skull."

He politely and wisely declined on acknowledging or commenting on that. She continued working, and as she did, his stomach only continued to rumble. The few snacks he managed to scavenge hadn't even put a dent in his appetite, and frankly, this gruesome display wasn't making him lose it, either. When the food was ready at last, she sliced it into pieces and onto a chipped plate. He almost asked for a whole slab, but then thought better of it. If he wanted more, he could simply slice it off himself. And he would be wanting more.

It was the most delicious thing he ate in quite a while and he wasn't ashamed to admit he forgot his manners for a time. It wasn't as though she had provided any proper cutlery to begin with, but Allen didn't mind. The meat wasn't spiced or loaded with any kind of herbs, rub, or flavouring, but it was still delicious to sink his teeth into, meat-grease and all. It was slightly gamey, but that didn't bother him at all.

She continued to work in lieu of eating, extracting more meat to replace on the spit, removing bone as best she could and where she could. It got to the point where Allen wasn't sure what she was doing, he had tuned her out so effortlessly. It got to the point where he had nearly eaten the entire deer's worth of meat, with only a few pounds left to consume that he realized she hadn't yet touched a scrap of food.

He paused in the midst of this revelation, feeling partly guilty.

"Aren't you going to eat some?"

"I'll be fine. You eat." She glanced at the spit, noticing that most of it had already been taken. He felt more than a little guilty as her stare lingered on the remaining scraps of meat, and the way she turned back to work without another word said.

She finished her work and gathered everything she could, carefully relocating bones and organs and the pelt and bowls to another site inside one of the caves beyond. She made two more trips, including one to her designated room, wearing fresher clothes this time, but still form fitting enough to prevent unwanted snagging of any sort. They looked like she's had them for a long time, he noted. They were slightly faded and well worn.

"You should get some sleep while you can. Storm's coming. Big'un, too."

He hesitated. "And what about you?"

"I can keep watch. I won't get much sleep anyway."

"Why not?"

She was quiet for a time. Then, "It doesn't matter."

"You say that quite a lot."

"I do…but only because it's true. You aren't staying for long, so I can wait things out. And when you're gone, I can attend to other chores. I can afford to put some things on hold." When she smiled it was small, bitter, and without humour. "It's not like I'm going anywhere any time soon."

"What do you mean by that?"

"It doesn't matter. You'll leave, I'll stay and I'll wait for the next hapless idiot that ends up on this island."

"But…why? Why would you stay? Don't you want to get out of this place?" He had seen very little, and but even that was enough to sway his bias that this place was not a dream vacation. In fact, it more or less resembled a hellish contest to stay alive, to survive.

"There's only one way off. And only you can take it."

"That doesn't make sense. What's preventing you from leaving?"

"It doesn't matter. And you're certainly not staying."

"Why not? You need help."

"Do I look like the kind of person who needs any sort of help?"

He thought on his answer and decided to rehash it out and rephrase. He didn't like the way she was glaring so intently on him, like she was trying to burn holes in him for even insinuating she wasn't capable of doing things that needed to get done.

"You were shot!" He remarked sharply, even under the scrutiny of her scowling gaze. "And it looks like you're all alone. I mean, besides the dinosaurs, but you don't have any people to keep you company. Aren't you tired of that?"

She looked away and for a time, focused her gaze on the campfire and the crackling, red hot embers beneath. "I prefer to be alone. It's better that way."

An argument was already forming a lump in his throat and fighting its way to his mouth, but he hastily swallowed it back down when he noticed something new in her posture.

Her shoulders were slumped. Most would have dismissed it, but he didn't. He couldn't. He could see the strain in her body, the tiredness in her frame and she suddenly seemed too small, too tired, yet she was putting up a rather terrific front to hide it all.

She took advantage of his silence, cutting to the quick.

"And you don't like my methods in disposing the Solarii. You've only seen it once, but you already disapprove. Guess what? It's the only way to deal with them. They don't negotiate. They don't offer mercy."

A molten yellow-gold gaze bore down on him that dared him to argue. Any other time, he quite possibly would have shut his trap, with some decorum of grace, and bide his time until he left. But this was just too unusual a circumstance to ignore. There was someone in front of him that was quite obviously lonely and in need of help, even if she didn't care, didn't know, or didn't want to acknowledge the topic.

He dared to argue.

"There has to be some other way. Have you ever tried negotiating? Talking it out with them, perhaps?"

He watched her, hopeful, but the longer she went silent, the more his hope whittled away.

"I tried twenty straight years of pulling strings and laying out opportunities to rally compromises of all sorts. You've never encountered the truly overzealous religious nutjobs until you've encountered those willing to kill the innocent and sacrifice them to a pagan deity."

"Twenty?!" The word had simply blurted out. He would have pegged her for her mid-twenties. Maybe late twenties and if he truly, absolutely had to guess any higher, perhaps even early thirties. When she sighed, he could practically hear the years she's spent alone on this island in it. The very sound was heavy and burdened with untold decades behind it. Despite her small frame and youthful appearance, her eyes were old with age. There were too many years of seeing too much she hadn't wanted to see in their depths. And yet, despite her claims at being a werewolf, they looked more human than anything. "H-How old are you? And how long have you been here on Yamatai?"

She didn't look at him when she answered. She looked back into the campfire again, distracting herself by adjusting the embers and repositioning the sticks within before adding fuel to the fire with fresh wood.

"I've tried asking for peace. I've tried negotiating without violence. I've tried asking for resolution and compromise, for a chance to work together, to help them escape. I've tried and tried and tried and nothing I said or did would appease Mathias and his Solarii cult. They want their blood and they want their bullets. They want to slaughter without a mind filled with guilt or remorse for their actions. They cast aside what made them a part of human society, once upon a time, and embraced a life of senseless violence and bloody sacrifice. They take pleasure in it and they willingly gave up their freedom and free-will and humanity to follow Mathias blindly and without question in order to achieve that. They've allowed themselves to conform to his will and refuse to stand up against it. It's kill or be killed on this island."

There it was again, that phrase. She dealt in that kind of absolute, that black-and-white mindset without room for a little grey area to retreat to in times of uncertainty. It was all or nothing. This island was cruel and had claimed too many lives, even of those who were still living.

It had certainly claimed hers.

"Why won't you leave this place?" He finally asked of her, before a thought struck him. She didn't respond, but it was answer enough. It dawned on him slowly but surely. He wasn't asking the right question.

"You…you can't leave, can you?"

When she smiled, it was cold and caustic. Bitter. Exhausted. It was a kind of smile he was all too familiar with.

"Just like I tried countless times to negotiate with the Solarii and Mathias…I've tried leaving this place. And each time I tried, everything reset itself. The Sun Queen…Himiko…returned. The men I killed, including Mathias, they're revived. Anything I have done outside my little sanctuary in here, it returns to its previous setting, the same as when I had first set foot in this place." She fell silent and he remained as such, stunned at the revelation. Any survivors she recovered and helped, they could leave.

The one person who deserved to leave, however, the one who seemed to have done so much—she couldn't leave and was left here to rot. But why?

"How long have you been here?"

"I don't know. Decades, at least. The thing about werewolves…we live a very long time. Thousands of years, even. I'm not that old, though. I think." It seemed to be the default answer to everything. She didn't know her name, her age, how long she'd been on the island. The only certainties she knew was her lycanthropic nature, immortal longevity, incredible regeneration factor, and most of all, she was stuck on Yamatai with seemingly no hope of ever getting off.

He pitied how resigned she acted toward such a fate, without so much as a fight left in her.

OoOoOoOoOoO

Addendum Note: In honour of the newly discovered Dakotaraptor, I have chosen the more proper species of raptor—in my opinion—for living on the island, in lieu of my original choice of the Velociraptors from film proper. I recognize that this may put off some of you. Please bear in mind that Dakotaraptor is the more proper species—again, in my opinion—solely due to its closer time period respects, feathered anatomical correctness, and large size in comparison to the Velociraptors. Perhaps at a later date, I'll include the Velociraptor, but this story is not that time.

Ironically, if some of you didn't know, during the consultation to the original Jurassic Park, Robert T. Bakker and his men discovered the Utahraptor right in the middle of production of the film. The artists in charge of designing the dinosaurs had previously complained about the inaccuracy relative to the Velociraptor's size in comparison to the design meant for the movie. Specifically, the size difference. Velociraptor is actually quite tiny. Lo and behold, a day after this repeat-offender complaint, Utahraptor was unearthed-the very animal they began modeling their raptors after. The more you know!