How the melancholy of a long night helped love blossom between a kikimora and her young master.
Uncharted Island Ch. 3
“….ana!”
Morgana stops her lazy tumbling about in the rip current and listens intently. It sounded like someone was calling her name.
“Morgana!”
That’s definitely Thomas’ voice, and it’s clearer and closer this time. She starts swimming toward the surface, intrigued. There’s a few hours to go before their agreed upon dinner time and Thomas almost never comes to this part of the island, citing a rocky, uphill trudge as being more than the nice view was worth. Whatever he was here for, it had to be important.
She surfaces just in time to hear him bellow once more.
“MORGANA!”
He’s running down the beach toward the water’s edge, waving a bundle of palm bark about excitedly, his increasingly shaggy hair whipping behind him. The only course of action she can think of is to swim over to meet him at the shore, and hope that humans don’t know that riding rip currents is something only children are supposed to do.
Uncharted Island Ch. 2
With six fish and enough shrimp for an entire family of scylla in tow, Morgana starts making her way upstream again. Her progress is slowed a bit compared to last time by the need to keep bits of her sizable bounty from drifting away. Surfacing once she reaches the pool, she looks around for Thomas. Thomas isn’t there.
“Thomas?” she calls, voice choked with worry.
He can’t be gone. He can’t. He promised her he’d be here when she got back. He PROMISED. HE PROMISEDHEPROMISEDHEPROMISED-
Uncharted Island Ch. 1
…
Morgana gasps and snatches her hand away defensively as a rock whizzes past her head and hits the water behind her with a splash. She whirls round to face the direction it came from, then freezes in shock at what she sees. A young human, stripped to the waist, feet carefully planted on two gravelly patches of sand that just barely poke out of the surface. His sunburnt skin looks rather tightly drawn, as if he hasn’t eaten his fill in a long time.
“Mine.”
He fits another rock into his sling with the practiced hand of someone who’s had to learn quickly or starve.
“I’m not sharing.”