She doesn't believe him. She's a young girl alone in a foreign country. She's lied to her father – said she was going back to the room they've rented, leaving him to discuss the rebuilding of the ship – but she'd snuck away, violin and her father's gun on her back, lost herself for a blissful moment in the breathbreaking beauty of this country caught in wilderness. It has a song – it has colors in the air – and if someone tries to hurt her there is no one to stop them. And he is a young man – he looks strong, half wild, his feet are bare and she is very much afraid, so afraid that her fingers tremble on the trigger –
And then there is a voice of wind. A kind of melody. They turn their heads, it sings to them both, and then Meg turns back to look at the boy. His hands are gentle. His eyes are dark and seem to strip away all her outer fears, all her tilted arrogance, as though he can see –
Something.
Slowly, she lowers the gun.
My name is Thomas Rolfe. So polite. So gentle. As though he is afraid she'll shoot or run or dive into the violence of the water.
I'm Meg.