"An American girl," Crazy Bones said, staring at her over his campfire.

He'd built a stone house into the side of a huge rock. The back wall dripped with condensation brought on by the warmth of the fire and the outer coolness of stone, creating the moldy smell she'd noticed before. It was stronger inside the house, nearly gagging her with its power.

The spitter stayed outside when she told it to. Crazy Bones had other creatures out there, crested dinosaurs and a stegosaurus. Del was amazed that the tiny predator was at ease standing near to a creature that could have easily impaled it in one blow. In fact, none of the dinosaurs seemed to mind the spitter being there.

"So what?" she shot back, wary of the man. He'd tried to drag her off, for whatever reason he had to do so. She suspected a very nasty reason, but didn't want to think about it. She wasn't about to be friendly with him.

"How long have you been here?" he asked, glittering eyes stuck to her skin.

Kasimir was studying a large and roughly-drawn map tacked to the wall, his arms crossed over each other and face hard. Del kept her eyes on the old black man, her stomach flipping around inside of her and nerves jangling.

"How long have you?" she shot back, tetchily.

"Yonks," he said, moving to sit cross-legged on the stone floor. "Longer than you've been alive. Heart-of-Iron and I had our fun, those days." He looked a bit wistful about it.

"...Whatever happened to your long necks, anyway?" Del asked, as innocently as she could but deliberately trying to offend.

"Oh!" Crazy Bones grabbed at his chest, as if his heart hurt. The motion set off a nearly deafening cascade of bone rattling.

She ignored him, focusing on the ropes in her lap. They were fastened to two rocks, a rough thread of fiber in her fingers. Bolas, he called them. She "knew" how to use them, after studying it for a moment.

Kasimir turned to Crazy Bones, jabbing a finger into the map and at some lettering.

"Unnamed."

"Not a clue," Crazy Bones said. "Can't get much out of the locals about them." He flapped a hand dismissively.

"New?" Kasimir's jaw clenched.

"Likely. Rumor of them up in the Maw, Grand Hills. Snow kids won't come down this far. They'd probably know more." Crazy Bones turned his attention back to Del, putting his hands in his lap. She pointedly ignored his staring.

"When did Woodsmen retreat?"

"Months ago." The old man shook his head. "Sailbacks took the land, the people. Anything left behind. Next thing I hear, they're running back to the river. Woodsmen gone, Sailbacks running. Maybe the kids finally got some gumption."

Kasimir made a thoughtful noise, staring at the map. Del craned her neck to see. Rough smears of dye stained the hide, outlining various areas. Names appeared in shaky cursive handwriting, one reading "Snow Children" far to the north. "Unnamed" was written near the middle top of the map, with a question mark beside it.

"What year was it, when you came?" Crazy Bones asked her, abruptly.

Del was caught off guard. "What do you mean?" she asked, warily.

"What I asked. When you woke up here, what year was it for you?"

"Why do you―" she frowned. It was an odd question, sure enough, but it only made her more curious as to what was going on. "Twenty fifteen?"

"...Two thousand fifteen?" Crazy Bones' eyes grew brighter under the skull, his back straightening out as he leaned forward in interest.

"Yes?" she said, leaning backward and away from him. His breath stunk under all the bones and mold, as if something had died in his mouth.

"Wonderful," he breathed. Del tried not to gag. "Did we win the war?"

Kasimir jerked upright, even more rigid than he'd ever been before, and strode to the door. He opened and shut it with a quick movement, going out of the house. Del was alarmed because―well, now she was alone with the nasty old man, but also―why?

"Which one?" she asked, cautiously.

"Don't tell me there were more than two big ones," he snapped. "Did we get those goddamn Germans?"

"Oh." She hesitated. "If you mean World War II, then yes." She screwed up her face, confused.

"Good!" the old man cackled, moving frantically in place. He looked like he was going to jump up and dance, he was so animated. The sound made her ears hurt.

"...What year was it for you?" Del asked, taken aback by his enthusiasm.

"Nineteen forty-three." Crazy Bones turned an eye to the door. "The Luftwaffe shot me down and I woke up here. I was lucky."

"Lucky," she repeated, trying to grasp what he was saying. Just how long had he been―how could he have been taken from―why had he been taken―

"Yes, lucky." Crazy Bones leaned backward, making a racket. "Could've died anytime." The old man's face fell. "Heard stories, didn't want to believe it. But it made killing the bloody bastards easier."

Oh. Del's eyes widened. Oh! "The Holocaust," she whispered.

"Is that what they call it?" Crazy Bones grumbled several swears under his breath.

Her face turned to the door. "When did Kasimir come to the island?" she asked, her voice very quiet. He'd said he was from Berlin―his hard words, the sounds―and his reaction to the question, all of it made her wonder.

"Before I did," the old man said. He coughed and scratched at his hair under the skull. "Don't know when. Man has a lot in his head, for someone who doesn't talk much."

"But―" Del frowned and looked back to him. "If you've both been here for a long time..."

"Right?" Crazy Bones said, rattling his bones again. "Yes. Doesn't make sense, does it? The whole island doesn't. Don't expect it to start being any less confusing, girl." He untangled a strand of tiny bones from his beard, grimacing. "Wait until you see your first Rex. It'll put you 'round the bend."

She breathed in, smelling the musty air and hearing the fire crackle and knowing that the minute she stepped outside everything would be insane. Just sitting across from an old man wearing a dinosaur skull and a hide shirt decorated with tiny claws and vertebrae was nuts enough, but to know the outside had more to offer―he meant a Tyrannosaurus rex, she was sure, and the thought terrified her to even imagine―

Del coughed and blinked back tears and tried to pretend she wasn't some idiot teenage girl who kept remembering stupid things about herself. Things like how she was more interested in her Twitter feed than how to start a fire or how if her cell was dead she would have "nothing to do".

If she could stop remembering that, she might feel better. Still couldn't recall everything about herself, but―if she was here for as long as Crazy Bones had been, or Kasimir, maybe she would.

But the longer she was here, the less she liked remembering. That was enough to make her want to cry again. She didn't want to remember because it made her miss home, because it made her feel useless and dumb. Like those idiots on the internet, all "cool story bro".

Maybe that was why Kasimir acted like he did. Because he remembered. Because he didn't want to.

Why did he leave the house, when the old man asked about the war? Was he―had he been in a concentration camp? Or―Del didn't like the thought that came to mind―was he a Nazi?

She shivered even in the heat of the fire, and pulled her legs up to her chest. "Why did you try to take me?" she asked Crazy Bones, staring at him over her knees.

He stopped moving, the sounds of clattering vertebra dying down. The glittering eyes under the skull vanished for a moment as he removed it from his head, placing it to the side. Del stared at a bald-headed and wrinkled man, about sixty years old, with a white beard and those horribly blackened teeth. He looked somber for a brief second, then his face split into a horrible grin.

"Gets lonely out here," he said, suggestively. "Wouldn't mind a little... company."

Del jumped up and left the house, immediately.