675-11-18 - Princesses in the Storm
Princesses in the Storm | |||||||
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Summary: Luanda wakes up in the strange island. | |||||||
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What happened during that moment, when a huge wave swallowed the ship of two young princesses is a secret between the night, the storm and these who were on the ship. Maybe some of these people even won't remember what happened, or maybe they were not lucky to survive. Maybe the last thing they saw was a bright light, or maybe they saw these, who they love.
Hard to quess what was seen by the Golden Leaf of the Two River's maple, but she was lucky to survive indeed.
Her slim body is laying on the sand. Maybe at first the wet sand was attached to her skin, but now small grains of it are slowly falling down, when the hot sun cleans the princess' body from the water.
Her closes are tattered and reveal much more skin than it would be proper. The first thing, which will awaken the young woman will be not that sunshine, not that fresh air but some kind of a poke to her arm with a small stick.
The first moments were a blur. There were the stairs going up to the deck, and there was the barrel that Lord Fennim had procured. It was difficult getting up the stairs with the pitch and yaw of the ship, the wetness of rain and spray, and the crush of people all trying to get up the stairs and off the ship all at once. One hand on the barrel's rope and one hand trying to keep hold of the other Princess, Luanda was knocked back and forth by panicking people.
Was she panicking? There was a brief thrill of fear. Terror. But then it was gone. She'd promised. Promised her brothers and her little sister and her mother above all, promised them before they died that she would be a proper princess. Promised that she would do her duty to the family, to the crown, to Two Rivers. To her father. And had she not just said that they would not die? Well then. To panic was to die. So she would not panic.
She insisted that Madalyn be tied to the barrel first, but in the blur of what followed, who knows what really happened? The rope went around her, and she herself helped with the knots. Good knots that her brothers taught her, when she was supposed to be learning princessly things. A brief, wordless thanks to them. She reached out for Lord Fennim -- he must be tied too -- but then the wave struck.
She'd fallen from a horse once, and once she had run smack into a tapestried wall and knocked herself silly. Once she'd even fallen into the pond and had to be fished out. But nothing compared to the force of the water as it slammed into the boat.
It didn't kill her straight off, and she felt a flicker of surprise at that. She screamed out for Fennim, then tried to tell Madalyn to hold on. Then her mouth was full of water, and there would be no more screaming. Not unless she wanted to drown. And she saw enough of that, men jerking and then going still with their eyes still open. Eyes filled with fear and then going blank. Dead eyes. And then there was a long time where she was not sure of anything.
The force of the water shredded her skirts, a blessing in disguise even if it felt as though she were being flayed alive, for the heavy weight of sodden fabric would no longer threaten to drag her under the surface for good. There were enough such threats. She was battered about, flung to and fro like a cat-toy, until all she could do was to cling to the barrel. And then the barrel was gone as well, run through by a great spur of wood that snagged the rope as well. Luanda was almost dragged under, but the rope frayed and split. She thrashed and kicked and somehow hooked her arm around a piece of the barrel. When she could breathe again, she looked about for Madalyn, for Fennim, for anyone else. Now and again, she could see people, but between the blur of water and the roar of the wind and sea, she could not tell who they were.
It seemed like forever, the waves and the sea, and as exhaustion took hold, things started to blur together. She clung to the wood in a daze, keeping afloat because that was all there was to the world, the sea and not drowning in it. And then even that was gone, and she lost any true awareness. She hardly noticed when the storm waves gave way to surf, or when she was washed onto the beach. Like a senseless wild beast she roused enough to crawl a few feet, then retched up a copious amount of sea water. Then she collapsed and knew nothing of the breaking of the clouds or the sunlight upon her. Was it a new day or an old one? How many days?
The next thing she is aware of is the warmth of the sun upon her and the scratchy itch of the sand everywhere. But above all, she is aware of the sharp poke on her arm. She groans softly, retches up more water, and then slowly opens her eyes.
The first thing caught by the eyes of a young Princess, who managed to survive the storm, is that golden sand and a small bug, trying to crawl across it, closer to the female's nose. Though, when Luanda manages to turn her head a little bit, just to see her own arm, she definitely notices a stick.
It's not such a big stick. Just a thin, but long stick, which moves quickly away from her pale and bruised arm. It flies up to the sky and then falls down, straight somewhere on Luanda's back. That hop of the stick is escorted by loud and fearful squeal.
The squeal is screechy, it even could be deafening, if the wind wouldn't polish it and wouldn't carry it somewhere deeper into the sea. A tiny turn of Luanda's head is enough to notice a running figure.
That figure is definitely a creature, who was poking someone, who had to be dead. She just had to be dead. But now she scared off the tiny figure of a young child.
The child is just a boy. He is almost nude. Luanda can notice, that the boy is covering himself just with a small skirt made out of natural leather. It's decorated with some leaves. But that is all. The boy quickly disappears in the forest.
Whole coast is bordered by the forest, very deep and very dark. There are no roads, no signs of any humans, who could wander into the forest or out of it. Actually, whole coast looks almost dead.
Though, if Luanda will try to look to the other side from where the boy was poking her, she will be able to notice something laying on the sand too. Not very clearly what, though, because there is quite a distance between her and an object.
The light is too bright for her salt-reddened eyes, and Luanda narrows them, blinking. The screech startles her, and she jerks her head towards the sound. It takes her a moment to understand what she is seeing, and she blinks a few times, dazedly, before she realizes that it is a real live boy and not her imagination. "Wait!" she calls, but her voice is only a hoarse rasp, barely audible. A rush of adrenaline allows her to lurch to her feet, and she calls out again, her voice weaker than before. She takes a step after him, but her strength fails her, and she crumples to the sand.
She lies there for a moment, panting, her breath wheezing in and out. She tries to stand again, but her legs won't obey her. They ache, as does the rest of her. She lifts her head again, looking around. She doesn't see the boy, and the deserted shoreline causes her to bite her lips. She has to look twice before she notices the shape in the sand. "Madalyn? Lord Fennim? Smith Ottis?" she croaks, but the sound does not carry. Once more she bites her lips. The sand is so soft and the sun is so warm. She closes her eyes, only wanting to lie there and rest until someone rescues her.
But what if no one comes to rescue her? That shape could be Madalyn, who she promised to take care of. It could be Fennim or Ottis or any of the others, commoners or crew. Her people, and in the absence of her father, her responsibility. That was a lesson she learned from her brothers, and she took it to heart when she finally accepted her responsibilities. She holds to it now. So she draws in a wheezing breath, then starts to crawl across the sand towards the shape. It hurts to move, everything hurts, and it seems to take an eternity to drag herself across the sand. "Golden Leaf, Golden Leaf, now's the time to prove if you are worthy of the title," she whispers to herself. She does not let herself whimper from the pain. And finally she is beside the shape, and she closes her eyes wearily for an instant, before reaching out her hand to touch the shape.
That slow, hard and full of pain walk from one point to another is followed by a few seagulls. They let out these annoyingly joyful sounds as if they were laughing from Luanda. Evil birds, who are happy to see someone struggle.
The ocean is calm now. It just murmurs something really quietly as if it wouldn't be a real ocean at all, just a shell cuddled to Launda's ear. A true lullaby for anyone, who is tired!
Though, the closer to the shape Luanda will get, the more better she will be able to see a small body laying on the sand, covered by the dirt, some kind of bulrushes and teared fabrics. If Luanda can feel quite improperly nude, this body is almost nude at all. Just a few remnants of the fabric are dangling around chest and under waist, just to hide the most needed places.
The tiny body is cold and still wet as it was tossed out of the sea just recently. It's definitely another princess. It's Madalyn.
Though, these long straight pure white hair no longer frames a face of porcelain skin, before falling over her slim shoulders. It reminds a broken porcelain more. The skin of her features is quite chapped, while the skin of her bared body is erupted and somehow swollen (like this: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Solar_urticaria).
Maybe the girl could remember something, what happened, if she would be awake. But right now, she looks almost dead. Just almost dead, because her chest slowly raises up less than a millimetre, and goes down.
Though, the hugest trouble is stuck somewhere in her abdomen's right side. It's thick broken plank of the barrel, which, likely, was smashed by the wild ocean. Her skin around the wound is covered in blood, which ripples across Madalyn's body and drops on the sand.
Luanda's breath catches, and she stifles a sob. "Oh, Madalyn," she rasps. "I'm sorry. So sorry. I tried to take care of you." For a moment she sits and trembles, until she sees the girl still breathing. "Oh! Oh, maybe I still can," she rasps. She watches Madalyn for a moment, then looks down at her own garments and sighs. She tugs off the tattered dress, leaving nothing for herself. They are sadly easy to tear, and she covers the other girl with some of the fabric, then uses the rest to bandage the abdominal wound as best as she can, trying to stop the bleeding without removing the wood. Her hands shake, and she forces herself to go carefully.
She closes her eyes when she is done, for her head is pounding and her legs and her arms ache and do not quite work properly. "You need help," she whispers. "I need help." She looks back the way the boy ran off, then sighs. "I can't leave you here alone, though. I need a... a... stretcher. A stretcher. And then I can drag you and follow the boy's tracks." Luanda doesn't give herself the chance to ask herself if she can do such a thing. She must. She draws in as deep a breath as she can, then starts to drag herself, naked, towards the trees, where she just might find the materials to make a sort of stretcher. Even on her hands and knees, she collapses twice, but she gets up again, and again, her jaw set with determination.
It may take a bit of time for Luanda to get closer to the forest. When finally she will get into the shadows of the trees, the woman will feel some kind of refreshing chill, which may give her a bit more energy.
The trees hide quite common view: many bushes with slightly redish berries, flowers, more trees, some bugs and birds. Of curse, the young princess will be able to see some broken branches laying on the ground, but nothing suitable for stretcher.
Suddenly, she will hear some kind of swishing behind the hugest bush on the right side, behind the birch on the left side, up in the oak and basically all around her.
By the time she gets into the forest, Luanda is exhausted. Her skin, so fair and never uncovered, is now red with sunburn. Her left wrist and ankle are swelling, and there is a gash on her shoulder where the sand has caked the blood. Still, all the wounds are wearing at her now. She shivers in the sudden coolness of the shade, and she looks around her, squinting until her eyes adjust to the change of light. She looks around for wood, dragging herself along, though she does not find anything she can use. There are the birds of course, and the insects, but they can hardly help to rescue Madalyn. And then there is the swishing. Swishing everywhere. The dishevelled princess pulls herself to her feet, briefly managing to lean against a tree. "Hello?" she rasps, then topples to the ground again in a little heap.
That, just one word, makes the sources of sounds step out into the light. The young princess will see about four men and three women. They all look older than 30 summers. Moreover, they all have bows with arrows aimed at the girl.
One of the man waves for a female. That female whistkes something to another. She whistles again and the sound moves rounds around the princess when suddenly a man appears just behind her and gently pokes the girl with the nose of an arrow.
He does not say anything, but his poking and encouragement basically means, that Luanda should move, walk deeper into the woods.
Luanda blinks, trembling slightly. The welcome coolness is turning into a chill. She swallows hard, lurching to her feet once more. Yet she does not move into the woods right away. Instead she points out towards the beach, where she left Madalyn. "Help. Please. She needs help." Then she takes a couple of steps before falling again, her ankle giving way. She allows herself a soft whimper of pain, then starts to crawl on hands and knees once more.
When the young princess starts crawling, the man swiftly grabs her by the hair and tugs to stand up. She may struggle if she wants, but the man will do everything to raise her to her feet.
Then he will gesture for two females of his to grab Luanda by her hands.
Females are very strong. If not their ample busts, it would be hard to know if they are females or males. If Luanda struggles or not, they will do everything to grab her and start dragging deeper into the woods. Nobody even looks towards the beach.
"Madalyn!" Luanda calls out the girl's name frantically. She does struggle, but she has little strength left with which to fight. "No. No. I promised I would take care of you. I promised! I'm sorry!" And then she is dragged along, unable to get free. She is the only one who looks back to the beach and the injured girl they leave behind.