The sun rose on the eastern horizon, painting the sky with pale hues of rose red, orange, and yellow. Wan sunlight spilled gently over the figure of a woman dressed in a dingy white dress on the white-sanded beach of a lush tropical island. She stirred and sat up, brushing her tangled red hair out of her face. Blinking several times in the sunlight, she stood and walked into the shallows of the ocean. Cupping her dirty hands, the left one wrapped in a bloody bandage, she filled then with water and rinsed her face, hissing softly as the salty water seeped into the numerous cuts and scratches that covered her face. She wiped her face dry on a dirty sleeve; the salt still felt slightly crusty on her face, but she didn't care. Cupping her hands again, she brought water to her lips and drank, not caring how bad it tasted or how dirty it undoubtedly was; it was all the water she had to survive. Tears sprang unbidden to her eyes as salt water seeped through the bandage on her hand and it started to throb.
"Bloody 'ell," she muttered as a single tear rolled down her cheek. She waded out of the water, fighting against the weight of her wet skirt. When she made it back to the beach, she sat down again, exhausted from the efforts of wading through the water. The gashes on her legs were starting to bleed again, and they too throbbed due to exposure to the salt water. The largest gash on her right thigh stung like fire, and she had a feeling that if she stayed on this island much longer it would become badly infected if it wasn't already. Many wounds covered her body; she found it a wonder that she hadn't died of blood loss, or been killed in her fight.
She glanced over by where she had built her fire several nights before. It had gone out during the night, and she needed to re-light it if anyone was going to see her signal. Her swordbelt and pistol were lying of to the side of the fire. By force of habit, she buckled the belt on and thrust the pistol into it beside the sheath of her sword. Standing up stiffly, she walked around the beach, gathering any dry sea-grass and driftwood that she could find. When her arms were full she made her way back to the site of her fire and dumped it on top of the ash of her previous blaze. Sighing softly, she dug two small pieces of flint out of a small leather pouch on her belt. It took several tries of her striking them together for her fire to spark. As she blew softly on the spark, the fire steadily grew. In a few minutes, she had a large smoky blaze. She sat beside it, humming a tune under her breath. Every once in a while, she would sing a few words. She gazed sadly at the horizon, hoping that a ship would sail to her rescue, but doubting that anyone would come.
