Page 17 of Rainse
Her expression softened. “You sound like someone who’s lost it before.”
“Many times.” I looked out at the sea. “But perhaps it is returning.”
She didn’t answer, but her gaze lingered on me a little longer than before. The morning light made her eyes the colour of shallow water—green, gold, alive. I had to look away first.
The bond hummed quietly beneath my skin, patient but insistent. I wondered if she could feel it too, that slow, tidal pull drawing us closer with every breath.
When she'd finished her fish, she got to her feet. She repressed a groan of pain, but it was too late, I had heard it.
"You should rest," I said gently.
"I have rested enough. I want to see what kind of island I am stranded on."
I jumped to my feet. "Let me give you the grand tour."
She arched an eyebrow. “Grand, huh? I’ve seen bigger sandbanks.”
“You haven’t seen this one.” I swept an arm toward the copse of trees, trying not to smile. “Behold—the most popular attraction of the island: the famous coconut tree.”
She followed me, limping only a little, her hand pressed to her side. “Wow,” she said gravely. “Such majesty. Truly the eighth wonder of the world.”
“Visitors come from all corners of the ocean to admire it,” I said. “It’s rumoured to have survived at least five storms and three very persistent crabs.”
That earned a laugh. The sound filled the quiet like birdsong, bright and unexpected. I wanted her to laugh again, and again, until I got used to the sound - although deep inside I knew that I would never get used to it, always appreciate it.
“And over here,” I continued, pointing to a scatter of tide pools between the rocks, “we have our state-of-the-art aquarium. Entry is free. Please don’t touch the residents—they bite.”
She crouched to peer into one of the pools. A small crab scuttled sideways, unimpressed. “So no souvenir shells?”
“Only if you can outwit the locals,” I said. “They guard their treasures fiercely.”
"Where is the gift shop?"
"Currently closed for renovations. As is the on-site restaurant."
She glanced over her shoulder, grinning. “Do you ever give normal tours, or is this a Finfolk thing?”
“Normal is overrated.” I stopped beside the darker rocks on the far side of the island. “And here we have the prestigious Cliff of Contemplation. Perfect for brooding or dramatic monologues.”
“You’re surprisingly funny for someone who barely smiles,” she said, studying me.
“I smile when it’s worth it.”
“Am I worth it?”
The question hit harder than she meant it to. I managed a faint smile. “You are the first guest to appreciate my humour. That counts for something.”
“High praise.” She eased herself down on a smooth rock and looked out at the endless water. “You know, for a place this small, it’s not half bad.”
“It has everything you need,” I said quietly. “Food. Shelter. Safety.”
“And company,” she added.
The words settled between us like the hush after a wave breaks. My greenskin rippled, sensing the shift in the air. For once, I didn’t try to hide it.
“Yes,” I said softly. “And company.”
She smiled, turning her face toward the wind. “So, what do you call this paradise?”
