Gillette woke up with his face in the sand - or rather with the sand in his face. His eyes felt scratched to bloody pieces with it, he tasted the salty grit of it in his mouth, and could barely breathe through his nose with the amount of sand stuffing it. When Andrew rolled onto his back it was the single worst experience of his life; he choked on sand and breathed some of it into his lungs. He shot forward onto his hands as he coughed and retched sandy globs and his tears were soothing and burning his scratched eyes. When Andrew could breath again he blew his nose with his hand, whipping the gritty snot into the sand beneath him.
With increasing coherence Gillette took note of his condition; his shoes were gone and he watched as he wriggled his toes in his stockings. Andrew remembered shrugging out of his greatcoat before the wet wool dragged him down and his wig was long gone. What remained of his uniform was stiff - ruined by salt - and warm from the sun. Brushing the sand from his face, Andrew surveyed his surroundings. A thick bar of sand littered with flotsam separated the ocean from the green foliage of the island. From the amount of wood and rope and canvas, Gillette assumed the worst; the Dauntless had sunk and there were few survivors, if any, besides him.
Andrew slipped off his stockings and tucked them into his pockets. Rising on unsteady legs, he limped to the ocean and washed his face and hands of sand and wet the hair on his hot head. The water was cool and refreshing and reiterated to Andrew his thirst. Turning his back on the ocean, Gillette walked into the island in search of water and perhaps something palatable to eat. When he had quenched his thirst and able to think again, Andrew would inspect the beach thoroughly and look for more survivors and useful items.
A flash among the foliage made him stop dead in his tracks. Andrew froze, terrified with the knowledge that he had no idea where he was and that he was completely without any weapons to defend himself. There was someone coming out of the dark green to great him and Gillette felt the cold sweat begin to trace paths down his skin. With some shock that was merely an echo to the discovery that he was no alone on the island; Andrew saw a slim man in an old shirt and tattered britches walk out of the trees. The other man stopped short upon seeing him and Andrew could see that he was a dark man with dark eyes that met his across the distance. Gillette did not recognize the man and wondered if they felt the same fear of each other for he saw that the dark man was also unarmed.
On a whim, Andrew raised his hand slowly in greeting and waved at the other man. After some hesitation the dark man waved back and began to approach him. Andrew shifted from foot to foot before deciding to meet the slim man halfway.
With even more shock – Gillette did not know how much more he could take in one day – the dark, slim man was no man at all, but a slim, dark woman. Andrew tried to introduce himself, but had no voice. The woman was not affronted and spoke to him.
"Welcome to the island. The name's Anamaria. You're lost, as am I. Care for a spot of water, Red?"