Off the Florida coast, there are islands. Everyone who lives here is indefinitely separated from reinforcement.
Against leaves, glass frogs rest. Their entrails shine through their transparent skin.
Now and then, a sea turtle slowly paddles into the occasional cove. Even more rarely, a female makes land, and lays her eggs deep in the beach soil.
On the shores, American crocodiles bask in the sun. Some appear dead.
In the shallows, scarlet ibises probe the water and mud for food, with their slender, curved bills. They take their catches into the lower tree limbs, where they feast and protect their young and feminine.
By day, kites, harriers, and caracaras rest on their perches, prowling the region with their ever-vigilant eyes. They guard the skies of this island...as well as prey on those who dare overbreed on it.
It's a nice island. For those who know if it, it's hard to pass up.
From across the ocean, a yacht nears the shore. The yacht looks like it was custom-made via laundered money; i.e. "too good to be true."
It runs itself aground ashore. Moments pass. From its taffrail, it flies a pirate flag. Its hull number is printed in Arabic runes.
The sole crewman disembarks. He's from Dakar. He's descended from Arabs. His name is Hamadou Dior...and he's a little-leagues poacher.
He swats at the mosquitoes that land on his arms. One bag at a time, he unloads his cargo.
He pitches a mosquito net in the woods. He sits on a cot, and plays his sintir (i.e. a lute). His music is beautiful. It's repetitive...but at least he hits all the notes right.
Cryptically, many animals in the jungle creep forward, and listen to his music. But they dare not get too close. He is a poacher, after all. For all they know or care, he might be after them.
With his sintir, Dior picks and strums as the sun sets. When it has, he puts away his sintir, blows out his lamp, and retires.
All around, the jungle animals return to their abodes if they're diurnal, and to their foraging if they're nocturnal. The nocturnal ones hope against hope that their human visitor doesn't poach at night.