The sun continued to rise and fall, and each new day brought Moana the same dismal truth: he wasn't coming back. As time marched on, she found that she looked to the horizon less and less for the familiar hawk. She buried the pain deep inside, refusing to let it break her. Her heart hardened against the hope that he should return.

The decision seemed simple when it came time to choose her first tattoo, as was customary for a village chief. A large hawk emblazoned her back, a miniscule fish hook on its wing. The tattoo was a reminder to herself: never again would she fall for any man. She was Moana of Motunui; she refused to be weakened by such frivolity.

Maui found himself drawn once again to the filthy pile of pebbles on which he had spent one thousand years of solitude. He chuckled when he saw the broken statue at the foot of the cave he once inhabited. He remembered trapping a teenage Moana in here when they first met; he had to admit her method of escape was pretty impressive for a curly-haired non-princess.

He glanced down at Little Moana, still tattooed over his heart. The tattoo had proven quite useful over the years; he had found that Little Moana mirrored the current emotions of the real Moana. It was his way of knowing whether she was okay. The majority of the time, she continued to smile and wave on her little boat. Sometimes the smile would fall from her face, and if it was gone too long Maui took it as his cue to make it to Motunui as soon as he could. Of course, all that had changed the day Tui passed.

Maui was in the process of calming the goddess Pele down from one of her meltdowns (she could get pretty volcanic when worked up) when he felt a pang on his chest. Glancing down, he saw Little Moana fall to her knees, head in her hands, silently wailing. Though he was over a day away from Motunui, even by flight, he left immediately, flying as fast as he could. He could almost feel the pain that tormented Moana, though he did not yet know the reason. It was all abundantly clear when he arrived that rainy morning and saw Moana, adorned in elaborate chief attire, standing before the pyre.

In his cave, Maui sighed. Dwelling over that day was useless. He glanced down at Little Moana, who stood unsmiling on her boat. That was her normal stance these days, long gone was her happy wave and cheerful smile. In the days and weeks following their last encounter on the beach, Little Moana had seemingly vacillated between anguish and rage. She sobbed with her head in her hands, then stomped around her little boat, shaking her fists. Little Maui wisely kept his distance from her through all this. Finally, she calmed . . . to a listless stare. It twisted Maui's heart. Did it mean that she was no longer missing him?

That's what he wanted, right?

"I will not discuss this any further!" Moana stormed from her hut, making her way to the shore. Sina stomped after her.

"Moana, you are being completely unreasonable!" Catching up with her daughter, she grabbed her arm and forced Moana to face her. "I don't care if you're the chief, I am still your mother." Sina released Moana's arm, panting to catch her breath. When she spoke again, her words were measured and calm. "Moana, you are twenty-five years old. You are the great chief of our people, you need to produce an heir to ensure the survival of our family's line. You need to start accepting suitors."

"I don't want to marry!" Moana answered sharply. She turned her back to her mother, arms crossed. Despite the expanse of ocean before her, she felt decidedly trapped.

"You have no choice," Sina said with a sigh. "Our family has survived for thousands of years. It cannot end with you. You have a duty to your people." When Moana did not answer, Sina gently touched her daughter's hawk tattoo. "I know you miss him, Moana. But don't let a broken heart stop you from living." With that, Sina turned and left Moana alone to her thoughts.

Moana sighed and made her way back to her hut. After Grandma Tala had passed, Moana had moved out of her parents' hut and into this one on her own. She certainly appreciated the solitude now. Laying on the mats and blankets that made up her bed, she clutched the blue pendant that hung around her neck. While it once held the Heart of Te Fiti, it was empty now.

She rolled to her back, staring at the tapestry of Maui that adorned one of the walls of the hut. The likeness was nothing like the Maui she knew; the illustration was one of rage, while the actual Maui always seemed to have a clever smile on his face. It had been two long years since she last saw him, yet she was still able to conjure his likeness in her mind as if she had just seen him yesterday. A familiar ache thumped in her chest. He was never coming back.

The sun glistened on the ocean as Moana tightened the sail. Checking the current, she made a few final adjustments before leaning contentedly on the mast, gazing into the horizon. A hawk whooshed overhead and a thump sounded behind her, signalling Maui's return to the boat.

"We're making good time. I saw Lolotai up ahead, looks to be about a day and a half away with our current speed. We'll be there before you know it," Maui said, placing his fish hook on the planks and standing beside her.

"A whole day and a half," Moana sighed, crossing her arms. "Didn't it seem to go a lot faster last time?"

Maui slipped a hand around her waist, drawing her closer to him. He leaned down and murmured in her hair, "I know a few ways we can pass the time." Moana turned her head to meet his lips with her own.

Moana woke with a start, her skin still tingling where Dream Maui had touched her. That pain in the neck. She could banish him from her waking thoughts, yet he still haunted her every dream. The nerve of him. She shivered in the cold. Wait . . . the cold?

Moana stood from her bed and pushed aside a tapestry to let in the sunlight. It was still day, yet the air was uncharacteristically crisp and cold. She exhaled, and to her surprise her breath appeared white before her. The weather was always the same on Motunui: warm and humid. Sometimes it would get a little cooler at night, but not by much. It was still the middle of the afternoon, and the temperature seemed to be dropping by the minute.

How odd.