Chapter 5

  When Mane uttered that question—"...will I have to leave?"—the island itself seemed to retreat in on itself.

  And that was very impolite indeed, to be honest, given the high amount of time and energy I had devoted to fixing up the damn thing.

  The ocean was still behind us, its waves silently coming to the beach. Walking on a sand beach in the direction of the sea were crabs that seemed to be totally unaware of their actions. The fire was crackling, giving off heat and re-enacting the absurdity of the situation.

  All of it no longer seemed real. The moment had become sideways, just like someone had given a slight push to the world so as to throw it slightly off balance.

  I kept silent.

  I was not able to. Not immediately. So I resorted to my usual practice whenever someone poses an inconvenient question to me—I fixed my gaze on the fire and wished it might blaze up into insight. It did not.

  From my peripheral vision, I noticed Someone becoming motionless.

  They have a peculiar way of that. Like a cord suddenly released from being too tight. Their head bent down, fingers went into the sand, shoulders came closer to each other. I didn’t have to look at them to detect the change. It flowed through the area separating us, sharp and silent.

  What Mane said bothered us both more deeply than I think he intended.

  The truth is, that's the problem with this whole situation: I wouldn't have lied to him—I could have given him a clever answer (if he had asked me any other question).

  I've been doing this for centuries and have developed quite a knack for answering creatively, as I do not lie. No sire!

  Unfortunately, my answer to the question he asked was not clever. All I felt was heavy, uncomfortable emotions in my stomach and thoughts that I was not yet ready to voice out loud.

  He wasn't supposed to matter to me.

  The rule was simple. We found him in the ocean, dressed him, and nursed him back to strength until he could move without tumbling. I told myself repeatedly that solving a temporary problem requires a temporary solution. Yet, to my dismay, here we were - Him, Someone and myself together as if it were nothing out of the ordinary. The act of eating together, laughing, and staring at stars in wonder was an experience that should carry weight. Despite my own belief that it didn't matter—past events made it incredibly difficult to view at presently.

  Mane filled the cabin with loud sounds, life, and joy. He would tease me if I was too serious, refer to Someone as "kid," and he would turn our nighttime meals into an atmosphere of complete chaos. We hadn’t had this much fun for so long.

  I swallowed and finally looked at him.

  His fists were clenched tight in his lap, knuckles pale, eyes locked on the fire like he was daring it to fight back. He wasn’t just asking if he had to leave. He was asking if we’d forget him. If this would all vanish the moment he stopped needing us.

  It was a stupid question. Obviously he should leave. People don’t stay here. They never have. This place isn’t meant for that.

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  That didn’t mean I wanted him to go.

  Someone had never known anyone but me. And now they looked at Mane like he was something bright and impossible, like he’d cracked open a world they didn’t know they were missing. I saw it in the way they leaned closer to him, like proximity alone could anchor him in place.

  And that scared me.

  Because I knew what had to be done.

  And I hated it.

  Someone had the same realization.

  They could sense it through the look in their eyes and the way they leaned a little closer to Mane as if they were attempting to take a little more time before the entire scene crumbled to nothingness.

  And as we sat there together, there were no words spoken. The firelight flickered on our faces and enveloped us in silence.

  But that stillness between us spoke louder than any words could convey.

  Finally, I inhaled deeply, took a few slow flaps of my wings, and glided gently to Mane's side. There was no need for me to say anything; he already knew what was happening.

  As soon as I was close, Mane lifted his hand with the palm up, creating an invitation and a protective point.

  This alone almost caused me to lose control.

  I touched down softly on his palm, being careful with my weight and mindful of him since he was still recuperating. Looking back at him while perched on his palm, I felt a sudden and painful ache in my chest.

  This shouldn't be causing me pain.

  But it really did.

  As I sat in his hand, I looked up at him and felt something turn inside me, sharp and unwelcome, in my chest.

  When I had first seen him wash ashore, I didn’t know what to make of him. He was obnoxiously loud, extremely demanding, half-dead, and an enormous inconvenience. However, through some strange series of events, he had become my friend, a real friend, not one I had to put on a show for, someone who listened, and cared about both of us.

  Someone else obviously felt the same way because they crawled across the sand silently and curled up against Mane, laying their head in his lap and closing their eyes.

  I examined both of them and wished, for a brief moment, I could seize that moment forever; keep it alive, forever basking in the closeness, reverberation, and delicateness of that infinite finality before that golden sunrise burst across the horizon.

  But as I observed the sun coming up, I felt this heartbreak I’d never felt before. Then the realization suddenly hit me that this sunrise would probably be our last shared sunrise together.

  I used Mane's hand as a perch to rise and maintain my vigilance and awareness of his gaze. I folded my wings tightly against myself as I noticed him staring deeply into my eyes. “This is not right. You should not have to stay here with us,” I told him calmly, maintaining a steady tone in my voice without wavering. I excelled at doing this.

  The tide continues to roll in and out from the ocean as it has consistently done throughout time. I stated, “This place has kept both ‘One and I alive, but we haven’t truly been living," I continued speaking.

  It feels strange speaking to Mane in such a nonchalance, but I feel lighter since his arrival. Speaking to Mane feels much easier and lighter, whereas the truth has always been extremely painful for me to carry.

  We all knew what this was, even if nobody wanted to say it out loud: the island may be beautiful with an unlimited horizon of sky, the ocean forever at our feet, but the island was nothing more than a beautiful cage; it was a physical home, but a cage nonetheless. The island gave us something to eat and a place to sleep, but it also had made sure that we remained in isolation.

  A small voice broke the quiet.

  “We fine… no need stay…”

  Someone pressed closer to Mane, face hidden against his side. Their words were soft, halting, trembling like they weren’t sure they were allowed to say them.

  My chest sank.

  “This… price to pay,” they went on, voice shaking. “Just Erik and Someone price… not Mane.”

  Within those words, there was something; something that was heavy and was old. They were speaking a truth they did not have the words or courage to say out loud. They were trying to protect Mane from something — from all of us.

  Mane bit down hard on his lip. I saw his shoulders tense, saw the tears he didn’t want spill anyway. He’d expected this—knew he was an outsider from the start—but expectation doesn’t soften a blow like that.

  First his crew had tossed him aside like he was nothing.

  And now here, in the one place he’d felt seen in years, he still wasn’t sure if he belonged.

  He just wanted somewhere to stay. Somewhere he was wanted. Somewhere that felt like home.

  “Don’t worry,” he said quietly, voice shaking despite his best efforts. “I… I get it. You don’t want me here, do you?”

  Before the words could finish settling, someone snapped.

  “I WANT MANE TO STAY!”

  The sound ripped out of Someone, raw and cracked and loud enough to hurt.

  Tears streamed down their face, glowing in the early morning light. Mane froze.

  They’d never spoken like that before. Not the volume. Not the clarity. A full sentence. Clean. Correct.

  To anyone else, it might’ve seemed small.

  To Mane, it was everything.

  I lifted off from his hand and landed on his head instead, wings fluttering softly as I settled there. The heat of his hair warmed me, glowing red in the sunrise like embers.

  “I don’t want you to leave either,” I said quietly.

  I meant it. Gods help me, I did.

  The soft chime of my wings filled the silence. The ache in my chest didn’t fade. It never does. Nothing good ever lasts forever—not without a cost.

  After a long pause, I asked the question I’d been avoiding.

  “Mane,” I said, hovering slightly, eyes dark. “Have you ever heard the story of the plague that started a war… and the Goddess who ended it?”

  He blinked, caught off guard. “I know a bit,” he said slowly. “The war’s what caused Noahs flood, right?”

  I nodded. “You’re right.”

  I hovered there, shadows cutting across my face as the sun climbed higher.

  “But do you know what really happened during the war?”