Moana laid on her back, feeling the soft, damp sand on her bare shoulders. She stared at the tiny specks of silver light decorating the dark expanse. Her grandma was always telling her the sky looked more magical when it was brimming with stars. Judging from the view, she was absolutely right.
Moana sighed wistfully as the sea foam rushed past her feet, gently tickling her ankles as it receded. It felt good to escape the duties that came with being the future ruler of Motunui. She'd found that cool, starry nights like this made excellent distractions.
It wasn't that she shied away from responsibility. She loved the close-knit island community. Her people had been there since the beginning, when she was just a babe. It would be an honor to lead them.
But she couldn't deny that she often longed for something more. Something she'd never felt here. She wasn't sure quite what it was, but she knew that out here, listening to the waves crash on the shore and inhaling the air saturated with the salt-water scent of the ocean, she felt content and at peace.
Moana may have spent many more hours stargazing, but her focus was pulled by a sudden, sharp cry farther down on the beach, followed by a quiet groan. She tried to stand without making much noise, and carefully slipped closer to the birthplace of the sound.
"Hello?" She whispered, turning her head every which way. Caution had always been something her father never failed to remind her of. She took a step forward, and tripped over something long, coarse, and tough. A voice helped as Moana fell face-first into the sand. It clung to her lips and and eyelashes. Trying - and failing - to brush the grains from her skin and ornately patterned clothes, she stood and turned to face a black silhouette shivering against a smooth, wet stone.
She tried stepping closer, but the silhouette immediately protested, "Don't! Get away! I-I'm. . ." She was hyperventilating. A few moments passed by were the only sound was the mystery girl's ragged breathing. She cleared her throat and started speaking, "If you don't step back, I'll-"
"Hey, hey!" Moana stepped into the moonlight, letting the stranger get a good look at her. "I'm not going to hurt you. It's okay!" She smiled earnestly, trying to gain the girl's trust. She tried to sit up, but failed. Moana dived forward to lift her up, her instincts to help overpowering the warning bells going off in her head.
"No, don't-" Moana ignored her protests, dragging her forward. As the moonlight hit the girl's form, Moana's eyes widened. She nearly dropped her as she let out a gasp. The girl had a seafoam green tail starting at her hips and extending way past the normal length of human legs. The girl tried to break free of her grip, throwing her body in the direction of the water, but instead she stumbled forward, crying out in pain. It was then that Moana noticed the bloodstains on the girl's scales. A rusty fishing hook was buried deep in the girl's side. Her swollen, punctured skin gave Moana a sick feeling in her stomach. The girl's eyes rolled back, and she passed out, sinking in Moana's arms.
Moana looked at the trees separating her from the village, then glanced at the stranger, then back at the trees.
She shouted, making a decision, "Somebody help! Please help! Help! Somebody!"
Bodies stumbled out of the woods, worried that their beloved Moana was hurt. Moana trembled, staring at the body lying in her arms. The villagers halted breathlessly as the tail came into view. Gasps of shock, horror, and confusion merged with one another. Moana's father, the current Chief of Motunui, usually had a look of irritation carved into his features. But all Moana could see now was puzzlement.
"Please, father, we have to help her!" Moana looked around helplessly for support. Some glimmer of it in the eyes of her people. Some small spark of hope. . .
Her grandma nodded, moving to help lift the stranger up.
"Mama, wait!" The chief protested, putting his hand on the old woman's shoulder. She brushed him off, sending him a glare that shut him up instantly. Without speaking, she took the girl's tail and helped Moana carry her towards the village.
Moana felt so powerless in those moments. Her fragile expression was reminiscent of a time when she was younger. When she found a starfish on the shore drying out, without any idea of how to help it. That same fear held her tightly, sending waves of doubt through her mind she couldn't shake.
Her grandmother had to take the girl's full weight as Moana's strength left her. She looked into her granddaughter's eyes and spoke softly, "Come, child. She's not safe out here."
The gentle smile on her face compelled Moana to follow. They walked through the trees, thorns pricking their skin and sharp leaving slicing at their calloused feet. They passed small houses and homes until the hut of healing came into view.
Grandma carried the girl up the steps and laid her down on a mat, calling for the priestess who lived in the adjacent chamber. Moana knelt down beside their wounded guest, brushing a cherry red strand of hair from her face to get a better look.
She was. . .beautiful. The girl's long lashes were unusually dark, and her lips were the color of spring flowers. Her wavy hair fell over soft shoulders. The girl's skin was so pale it seemed to shimmer. Moana had heard stories of men and women with skin the color of a bright light or fresh snow. But she'd never seen snow. She wasn't sure what it really looked like. Not until now.
Moana learned a little closer, enchanted by this beautiful creature. She pondered for a second if all people with light skin had the same bright colored tails, but dismissed the thought as she remembered her grandma saying that they "walked the earth," and she wasn't sure the fish-girl could even stand.
She was so thin. Her arms frail and her ribs jutting out. Moana wondered if she was starving. She hesitated, not wanting to leave her side, but when she awoke, she would probably need food more than company. She sprinted out of the hut and ran for her house. Grandma will look after her, she told herself. She'll protect her. . .
It was easier to repeat it rather than truly believe it. But Moana ignored that thought, darting underneath branches and over briars and unearthed roots as she made her way to home.
The Chief's cabin was larger than those lining the thin string of woods. An added privilege to being the leader. It seemed, that even the small things in life, things that shouldn't mean as much to her as they did, even still reminded her of an impending destiny she could never change.
But that was just one more thing she couldn't think about right now.
Moana found a few loaves of bread, leftover fish, and a bowl of freshly picked berries. She grabbed a basket and filled it with the most delicious foods she could find. Covering the top with a clean piece of cloth, she rushed back to the hut of healing.
Grandma was there, mashing herbs in a small bowl and looking to the priestess for confirmation. The girl was mumbling incoherently, her fists clenched and her brow tight.
"Nightmares plague her," the priestess explained. Moana took a seat, the basket secure in her lap. A few candles were lit. The faint swirls of smoke and comforting flickers of heat enveloped Moana, allowing her to relax a little and release the tension in her shoulders she'd been carrying since she heard that cry on the shore.
"We need to clear the hook, before the rust spreads infection," the priestess said calmly, her voice like quiet music.
"What do you need me to do?" Moana asked, her voice catching slightly in her throat.
"Hold her down, she might surface during the removal and we can't have her fighting back."
Moana nodded solemnly, pinning the tail to the floor and drawing in a shaky breath.
"One. . ."
The priestess wrapped her hands around the menacing hook.
"Two. . ."
Grandma set down the bowl and moved to restrain the stranger.
"Three!"
The priestess pulled the hook from the the girl's side and winced at the awful sound it made coming out. The girl's eyes opened and she let out a shriek, her body convulsing as the priestess quickly threw the hook to the side and starting stuffing crushed healing herbs into the girl's wound. The girl struggled, but Moana and her grandma stayed firm, using time for the priestess to finish, sew the wound shut, and wrap a clean bandage around the girl's waist. She passed out from the pain, her head falling back on a pillow as sweat trickled down her brow.
The priestess quietly cleaned up the hut, wiping away the speckles of blood that had landed on her cheek, and picking up the hook to throw out.
As she left, Moana glanced at her grandma, blurting out, "What is she?" Her face turned scarlet as the words hung in the air. Grandma stared at the tail, her lips momentarily forming a smile.
"I believe the legends call her kind mermaids."
"Mermaids?"
I believe your father would refer to them as 'fish-people.'"
Moana smirked. That definitely sounds like him. While her father made a noble and wise chief, he lacked grandma's knowledge and eloquence. Maybe that was to be expected, as she had lived a far longer life than him. All musings left Moana's mind as the girl - or, according to her grandma, the mermaid - started coughing violently. Her chest undulated like a wave as each cough tore through her. She finally stopped, lying back against the mat. Moana waited for her to open her eyes, wondering what color they were.
Grandma stood up to fetch some water. The mermaid rolled her head to the side. A soft snore soon filled the hut as she slipped farther into the world of dreams.
Moana awkwardly interlaced their fingers, squeezing her hand gently. She wasn't sure what compelled her to do so. All she knew was that whoever this girl was, she gave her that same feeling of contentment she felt when she was lying on the beach, staring at the stars. She slowly closed her eyes and drifted off to sleep.