This is a one-shot that I wrote for PlanetOfTheWeepingWillow as a prequel for her short story, The Island. Enjoy!

A warm breeze meandered through the grove of trees surrounding her. It picked up her thick, dark hair, twisting it around its salty fingers and caressing her skin. She stood facing the shore. The white sand was blinding against the brilliant light of the sun, and the crystal clear waves slid lazily in and out as the tide came in. The sounds of the gulls above her head were faint, far away.

All of this was not, however, what her eyes were fixed upon.

What she was seeing nearly stopped her heart.

It was…

Well, she didn't know what to call it. She had never seen the likes of it in her life. It looked like a massive wooden monster, with wide white cheeks filled with breath. It sat a good stone's throw away from the shore, rocking back and forth with the swell of the waves and foam.

Men now stood on the sand. Strange men. Strange men with strange instruments and strange clothing. Even their looks were foreign.

One of the strange men turned to face her. He had blonde hair pulled back with a leather tie, and eyes as blue as the sea. His lips pulled back to reveal straight, white teeth.

She fled deeper into the forest and didn't stop running until she was back in the village. She was terrified.

-x-x-x-

"Hmm, strange," Francis Bonnefoy muttered, half to himself and half to the other men gathered around him. They had stumbled upon this uncharted island just in time. Supplies were running low, and this island may just be their saving grace.

One of the men standing behind him, Félix, straightened up from setting an empty crate onto the sand. "Did you say something, sir?"

Francis stared into the treeline for just a moment more before tearing his eyes away. "Nothing," he said, "I just could have sworn I saw something. I must be imagining things, too much time at sea."

Félix chuckled, a warm and cheery sound. "I understand completely, sir. Good news is we only have a couple of more weeks until we should be turning back toward home."

Francis nodded approvingly, then reached down to a bag that rested at his feet. "I'm going to go and look for water."

Félix and some other men frowned, concerned. Félix spoke up. "Alone, sir? If you don't find my saying so, I don't think that's wise. For all we know, there could be wild beasts, or hostile natives."

Francis looked back at the treeline. He sounded thoughtful. "No, I think it'll be fine."

-x-x-x-

Within minutes of setting out into the thick trees, Francis wished that he had taken someone with him. The foliage was incredibly thick, and it pressed around so much that Francis could swear that he couldn't get a proper breath between these branches.

Everything was too green.

The soil was too dark.

This place was just too… unnatural.

No, that wasn't it.

It took Francis a few moments to come up with the right words for it. When he did, he nearly stumbled backwards out of the shock of his realization.

This place… It was completely untouched.

-x-x-x-

She watched him walk from her silent post in a tree, and when he was nearly out of sight, she'd move on to the next tree to watch from closer. She was too scared to go down to the ground and follow him from so close, so she settled for the safety of the canopy. He was puzzling, and she didn't know what to make of this pale man with his hair that was the color of sunshine. His hair looked so soft… If only she could just reach out and touch it. In her mind, she was sure that that hair felt like how a morning cloud would feel if only she were tall enough to touch one. One day she might grow tall. Maybe then she could see what a cloud would feel like.

She shifted her weight on the tree branch slightly to get more comfortable, when the wood creaked loudly. She gasped and grimaced, then stood stock still. Maybe if she didn't move, then he wouldn't see her.

The strange man with the sunshine hair spun around quickly, searching for the source of the noise. His eyes panned the entire forest floor, then drifted up into the tree branches.

Up.

Up.

Until his eyes met hers.

Until ocean met earth.

-x-x-x-

Neither of the two moved for probably a full minute. Her, in her green and leafy haven above the ground, him, below and exposed.

That's when Francis got an idea.

He slowly reached into a bag that was slung over one shoulder and withdrew a sort of peace offering: An apple. He held this treasure out in one hand toward the girl, who looked even smaller than she really was high up in the trees.

The girl watched him for a moment before deciding to slowly climb down. Her dark bare feet hit the moist earth nearly without a sound, and she went up slowly and carefully to Francis. He extended the apple once again, and the girl reached out hesitantly, then she took the apple from Francis' hand and took it in her own.

The girl back away a few steps, then stopped to examine her prize. She turned it over in her hands, rubbed it with her dirt-caked fingernail, smelled it. Satisfied, she lifted it to her lips, then bit into its sweet flesh with her small, yellowing teeth, some of which were missing already. Sticky juice ran down her chin, and she chewed thoughtfully. After a moment, she smiled. Francis smiled back, relieved that he hadn't scared this young girl off. When she focused her attention on another bite of the apple, he took a moment to inspect her.

She looked to be about ten or eleven years old. She had long, thick, wiry black hair that fell in a thick sheet all around her torso and to her waist. She wore minimal clothing, only a small loincloth to cover herself. She wore no shoes. Her body was slender yet muscular, and her muscles in her legs and arms were already hard as rock. The skin on her hands and feet was tough and leathery, and her nails were dirty, broken, and chipped. Her eyelashes were long and thick, and her lips were round and full, and they were peeling.

While she was preoccupied with the apple, Francis got an idea. He pointed to the ruby red fruit in her hands and spoke.

"Pomme," he said. "Apple."

The girl looked up, quite startled.

Francis pointed again, and repeated the word. "Pomme." The girl stared back at Francis for a few seconds, then started to understand what he was getting at. She opened her mouth and tried to repeat the word, but failed. Francis nodded encouragingly, repeated the word again, and waited for the girl to repeat it. She did, much better than before. Francis nodded again, smiling broadly.

The girl then looked up with murky brown eyes at Francis' hair. She paused for a moment before stepping up next to him, reaching out her fingers, and grasping a bit of his hair. Francis didn't dare move. She stood there, half-eaten apple in one hand, strands of golden hair in the other.

"Cheveux. Hair."

The girl released Francis's hair and rubbed her own thick hair between her fingers. Francis nodded fervently. "Oiu, that's right!"

The girl smiled broadly, completely oblivious as to what she was doing right, but she gathered that she was doing something to make this stranger with the sunshine hair happy, so she wanted to keep doing it. She liked his smile.

Francis took two hands and pointed at his chest. "Francis."

The girl pointed at herself and tried to repeat the name.

"Non," Francis shook his head and pointed back at himself. "Francis."

The girl started to point at herself again before thinking better of it. She pointed at the stranger instead.

Francis clapped and started to laugh. "Merveilleux!" he said, elated.

The girl laughed too, enticed by this new game. She then pointed to her.

Francis thought for a moment. He didn't know how to express to her that he didn't know her name, but she seemed to have already thought about that.

"Jíldurarhe."

The name was guttural, primal sounding. To Francis, it didn't even sound like a language at all. It sounded more like an animal's growl than what should be coming out of the mouth of a human being. Francis raised his eyebrows, then pointed to the girl as if to ask, That's what you're called? The girl nodded, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. Francis made a valiant attempt at saying the strange name, but he ended up butchering it, which led to a string of hearty laughs from the girl, and from Francis in return.

The girl, now enthralled with this man and his funny words, picked up a small flower from the ground. The stem was a deep green, like the rest of the forest around them, but the petals were a rich orange, the color of an autumn sunset. She held it in her hands for a moment, examining it, before passing it to Francis. Francis smiled as he took it. He twirled it between his thumb and forefinger and whispered, "J'aime cela. I love it."

The girl frowned, perplexed, at these new words. She waited for an explanation from the man with the sunshine hair. He, however, had no idea what to say.

How does one explain the concept of loving something?

The girl repeated Francis' words as best as she could, and waited patiently for him to show her the meaning. Francis remained silent.

This was a question that he could not answer.

And he never did.

As always, thanks for reading!