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She hoped he wasn’t an infiltrator. An infiltrator that she had rescued and led right to their doorstep. She huffed, stomping a foot in irritation with herself.
What was wrong with her? So distracted. Dammit.
“Kymri? You alright?” Marli’s voice came from near the change room door.
She swished her tail and jerked her head affirmatively.
“Want company?”
She shook her head, but her tail curled around Marli, brushing lightly against her.
“See you when you’re back, then.” She patted her knee and stepped back to give her more room to take off.
Kymri took several steps and launched herself from the platform. Some of the people below looked up and waved as she passed.
She couldn’t imagine herself leaving this place to go find a mate.
Now she had to go clean up her mess and figure out who this castaway was and if he was a threat to her people. If he was harmless, she could try to get him some help and send him along.
If he wasn’t, she’d have to kill him.
Until she knew if he was a threat or not, she wouldn’t condemn him. She wasn’t archaic, despite the need to protect her queen.
However, she wasn’t naive either, knowing full well what kind of atrocities humans performed on others. But then, was he even human? If he wasn’t, what then? Again, she would take care of it as the need arose.
By the time her rounds brought her within sight of the little white plane, her body had released the tension of her worries. Flying high overhead, she surveyed the small island. A camp had been set up, with a fire burning in a clearing. He was resourceful and proactive.
The light was fading, which would shield her from his view, especially at this height.
Flying so that she was out of view from his camp, she descended at some distance, on the far side of the island, and shifted into human form as she crested the natural beach dunes. From there, she went for the stash. There was one on every island. Finding the right tree, she reached into a deep hollow and extracted a sack with clothing, leather sandals and a small knife. Dressing, she slung the small sack over her shoulder and started walking toward the camp end of the island.
Before entering the camp, Kymri watched the man for a little while; he seemed at peace, observing the sky. The breeze shifted and she could scent his body. Studying him, her eyes slid over his form, head back, his thick dark hair hanging behind him, the line of his jaw obscured by beard growth, the strong neck and broad shoulders. He was clearly a tall man, even seated as he was with his long lean legs outstretched.
Determined to engage and find out his purpose in their territory, she stepped forward.
Hauling the last of his equipment cases into place, Jori turned to give his camp a once over. Pulling the elastic from his wrist, he tied his hair up into a loose bun so the sweat on the back of his neck could dry.
He drew several deep breaths of the moist ocean air as the sun prickled his skin.
With no idea as to how long he’d be here, it was vital to ensure he had what he needed. Even though the digital equipment had failed, essentially causing him to be stranded, he brought it into the camp anyway. Maybe something would shift, and he’d be able to get a signal out, or at least do some recording of his days on the island. You know, in case someone did come along a little too late, then they would at least know what became of him when his bones were found.
He set up was the solar panels and hooked up the communications. There was still nothing working properly. The satellite phone connected to wrong random numbers. The digital camera caught strange anomalies when you could see anything at all, and the video he shot was like looking into another place altogether. That was when stuff actually powered up. Clearly the magnetic interference was going to be a problem for his documentary work.
He sighed, rubbing a hand over his face, grazing over his whiskered jaw.
Since he had planned to visit islands along the way, he had the necessary camp gear, including a reliable tent and a bed roll. The biggest challenge had been prying open the jammed doors to get some of the cases out into the open, but he’d managed. It wasn’t like he didn’t have time on his hands.
Now, he sat on one of the portable chairs by the campfire he built from scavenged beach wood and decided to worry about rescue in the morning. For today it was enough that he’d survived a wild Atlantic storm. He laughed to himself. He had been rescued. Some ocean creature had fucking pushed his plane to safety. Elbows on knees, he leaned and placed his chin on his hand, fingers curled over his lips while staring at the exposed mess of the little Cessna.
He’d been damned lucky.
No one, absolutely No One, was going to fucking believe him. Not without footage of some kind, and if whatever caused the ‘Bermuda Triangle’ effect was still around him; nothing would work except maybe the film. Maybe. If— and that was a very big ‘if’—the magnetic atmosphere didn’t mess with the film exposure. And he wouldn’t know that until he got it into a dark room back home.
His plane looked like a bloated whale belly on a sandbar.
Fingers digging into his hair, rubbing at the muscle, he wished the ache would go away.
He couldn’t imagine what had stopped his spinning free fall. Whatever it was, had been large and strong. And intelligent. He was pretty sure it didn’t have tentacles, so it wasn’t the legendary Kraken.
