A gentle stroll. It would always clear the mind, make things calm with the sound of waves breaking on the shore.

That's what grandma had always said, how things could and would always get better.

Was she wrong?

For the thousandth time, the young tribal chief of Kalea wondered about that as she sat in the middle of a small clearing, hidden in the jungle not far behind the main Kalean village. Before her was a small shallow pool surrounded by rocks almost entirely save for a small stream that fed into it from the brush; the sound of a waterfall nearby indicating that to be the source. Despite the heat and the sun, the young chieftain was wrapped in a blanket that covered her back as if she were trying to shield herself from the cold.

It was not too far wrong. As she stared at the pool, she saw her own reflection staring back at her. Before she had been content to see herself in water, but now she often found herself recoiling.

It was as follows, dear readers. Dark rings circled her eyes, no doubt from a lack of sleep and constant fatigue. They had even sunken into her head a little, as if she were very ill. Her hair, once black and frizzy, but long, had turned partly grey. Some parts of her cheeks and chin had become riddled with small scars and small bits of a rash, partly a reminder of her horrific and arduous journey months ago, and partly because of how she would sometimes find herself sleeping outside near this very spot (and one time randomly on the beach) and so had been bitten by insects. Her face, too, looked thinner. Some of the roundness from her previous somewhat curvy and youthful figure having drained from lack of a proper diet. She looked as though she had aged quickly since returning from Skull Island.

Again, not exactly wrong an observation.

The Kalean chief sat staring back at herself, having been in this position for the last … well, goodness knows how long. Last night had been another bad one in terms of sleep and … nightmares. Even though they had been constant to the point where one would at least think they could be somewhat used to it by now, every time it still felt like it was the first one happening all over again.

Always the same! Always the creatures. Gowa! The carnage … why, oh why would the gods ever create something like that place?

Moana looked back at her reflection, as if trying to find an answer to her internal questioning. How could such a place exist in the first place? Why would the gods even want to have an island that made Lalotai look like a kid's playground. And why …?

She looked down at her hands, hidden by the shadow of the shawl around her as if she could not bear to let them be seen by others, lest they be reminded of what had happened, what she had done to …

Moana hid her hands further under the blanket, looking from the pool and ahead of her, her expression empty, resigned akin to one who had come to know they had no purpose and were just waiting for their end.

While the effects of that event were noticeably physical and outward in her appearance, what really stood out to many were her eyes. Before she had had that youthful, jovial, stubborn yet persistent look about her. Now, she was simply here, her eyes empty when meeting people, that fiery touch to her character no longer burning bright as it had done before.

Skull Island had changed her. It had changed all of them in one way or another, and even though they were gods knows how far away from that hellhole, it still hung over them like a cloud, its darkness clinging to them and not willing to let them go.

Not willing to let her go.

Looking back down at the pool, Moana's eyes widened and she recoiled in horror, her shawl falling from her back. Her chest rose and fell rapidly as if she had just run a marathon, eyes wide as coconuts, her body shaking like a leaf. Her stomach, though she had barely eaten since early this morning, made her feel like she was going to vomit. She instinctively reached for a sharp knife carved from a coral reef hidden in her clothing.

No! N-Not again!

A face stared back at her, grotesque and mutilated. Part of the head was crushed in, creating a sort of inward curve as if it had been cut out. One eye was missing, leaving the socket with a gaping hole that was as black as a night out on the ocean, the other grey and void of any spark of life from within. The cheeks were lined with scared; the nose was bent at a bit of an angle with a ruby coloured stain around the mouth and chin as if blood had been consumed. The skin was pale, devoid of colour, devoid of that glow and that spark of life that would evident to any who looked upon someone or something that might be living.

The face, a woman, stared back at her blankly as if that was all that was needed to communicate to the young chieftain.

Ka-kakalina!

Moana turned away, burying her head in her arms, shielding herself from the gaze of the face that stared back at her, praying to the gods she would go away. Her mind raced with everything they had seen on the island. The arrival of the Skull Islanders, Kakalina begging for help, the people of Kalea with Moana at their head, the monsters, the lies, the fear, the …

Moana looked down at her hands, tears brimming in her eyes when she saw … blood!

She looked away, closed her eyes, holding her breath. No! G-Go away! Please! L-leave me alone!

Footsteps approached; she felt a hand caress her cheek, but she dared not open her eyes, lest it be … her. She wanted to cry out, to scream 'NO!' but she couldn't.

Quietly, she began to sob, her body trembling with utmost trepidation.

"Moana!" a voice – hers – spoke. It sounded ghostly and distant, yet she could hear it as if it were right next to her ear, a strange dichotomy of a whisper in the wind and the roar of a tempest.

She tried to shield herself more, to wrap up into a ball. "P-please! Go-go away!"

"Chief!" it came again, though the voice sounded less ghostly. The hand moved to her back. "It's okay,"

No! She shook the hand off her body. She tried to find the shawl, but couldn't find it. Her hand a leg, and the owner, after withdrawing it for a moment, knelt down and another hand stroked her head.

"Chief, it's me," the person said softly.

Moana froze. W-was it really?

Slowly, she looked up and saw a familiar female face looking down at her. It was Aheti. The woman stared back at her with a look of concern, yet there was a clear undertone of an expression that showed she had dealt with this before.

Aheti hugged Moana and held her against her chest, gently rubbing the back of her head akin to a mother comforting their child after having a nightmare.

"It's okay, Chief!" she said. "You're safe!"

Moana gave a small nod, and slowly her trembling ceased and she began to breathe more smoothly. Her tension dissipated and she relaxed, calming at the comforting feeling that one of her own was here. She looked over at the shallow pool of water, expecting to see … her standing there in her ghostly form. She looked down at her hands and saw they were clean, save for a light layer of dust from when she had recoiled from the pool.

The young chieftain sat up away from Aheti, swallowing hard. "I-I'm okay," she said, nodding at her fellow islander as she got up, making sure to pull the shawl over her back.

Everyone knew what had happened, Aheti especially of all people, but they said nothing. Moana seemed to have this idea that if people could not see the scars across her back, then they would not be able to talk about it. Obviously, it was not the case, but no one said anything, no one dared, nor wanted to be that person. Besides, it probably would bring a lot more of that trauma the chief had repressed or buried away to the surface, and given how she had been in the weeks immediately after returning to Kalea, no one wanted that.

That was in no way to say that she was doing fine now, though. One look from Aheti at her chieftain told the young woman that the daughter, the Wayfinder, the one who had restored everything back to a stable equilibrium in the ocean, was quite literally the definition of a shell of her former self. Not only was her body thinner, her hair slightly faded, her face and body racked with small cuts, scars and rashes, but that youthful, jovial spirit, that bubbly, quirky personality that had come to define the chieftain, and what made everyone love her and respect her so much, was no longer there.

Aheti, though never out loud, wondered privately sometimes if the chief had really managed to survive from Skull Island.

Moana wiped her eyes clean with the back of her hand and looked at Aheti. "Uh, so … did-did the boats come back?" she asked, trying to sound normal.

Aheti nodded, trying to do the same. "Yeah, they returned some time ago, Chief." She shook her head and raised and fell her arms against her side in a moment of pique. "No luck so far,"

The Kalean chief nodded, looking at the ground for a moment, lost in her thoughts. Such news no longer bothered her, or at least not too much. In the weeks after the return, and once people had come to terms with the tragedy, there had been constant expeditions going out to sea to try and find another island for the Skull Islanders to rebuild on. So far, they'd had no luck, partly due to there being no other uninhabited islands out here in this part of the ocean, and also because it was now storm season, and she did not want to risk anyone going out and getting lost.

That was not to say she was happy with having them on Kalea. While Moana understood their plight and sympathised with them, she also understood why many of her own people were unhappy with another, seemingly careless tribe living right next door, one (they were quick and constant to remind her of this) that had caused the deaths of a large chunk of their people. Sometimes, she just wanted to banish them, to kick them out and let them sort out this problem themselves.

No. If she did that … she'd never be able to forgive herself, never be able to look herself in the water's reflection again and be content. She even expected her Grandma Tala to come back and scold her. "Never give in to hate, Moana. It will only lead to suffering, no matter how enticing it is,' she had said to her once. Even if everyone had seen her as the village crazy lady, grandma's wisdom was never far from her mind.

As long as Moana was chief, she wouldn't just kick them off Kalea, and that was something the rest of the island was going to have to accept. Besides, even if they she did, or if they wanted to leave, they wouldn't survive long out there. Not when almost half of the remaining thirty or so were children, and most of the adults were women. Tama, Atoni and a few others were the only men, and if they came across something out there – even if it were the Kakamora – they would be easy pickings.

She snapped back to now and faced Aheti. "Well … we better get back," she said.

Her female companion nodded. "Sure thing."

They trudged across the clearing and back into the forest in the direction of the village. As they went, Moana inquired about how things were in the village for today, to which Aheti was able to respond as positive as she could. The ships had returned safely, a good catch of fish was being brought in, and there looked to be no storm on the horizon (for now at least). The young children of the village were also still jovial, so there was no need to worry about keeping them entertained for the time being.

As they left the forest and neared the village, they saw a group near the main building, men and women mostly from the Kalea, and several of the Skull Islanders. They could hear some raised voices, and not happy or excited, but ones of anger. A few gesticulations were visible too.

All eyes turned to the two women, revealing Atoni to be arguing with Keahi. Tama was standing nearby, along with another, younger man from their tribe.

Moana sighed. Here we go again!