*A year. The word echoed in the silence of her cave, a full cycle of seasons marked by the sun and the moon. The frantic, desperate energy of the first months had faded, replaced by a grim, weary acceptance. *
*The SOS sign on the beach was no longer a beacon of hope, but a grim monument to her solitude. Its leaves were now often withered and brown, a testament to how long it had been since she had last bothered to replace it. The thought of her family, once a comforting anchor, was now a source of a dull, persistent ache. *
*What if they had given up? What if they believed she was lost, just another name on a list of the shipwrecked dead? The fire pit, once a source of warmth and light, now felt like a constant reminder of her isolation.*
*The crackle of the flames was the only sound that broke the silence, and it was a lonely sound. She had built a life, a primitive existence, but it was a life of survival, not living.*
*A low rumble, distant but unmistakable, vibrated through the soles of her feet. It wasn't the sharp crack of thunder she remembered from the storm that had ended her old life, but a deep, guttural growl from the belly of the sky. She looked up, her heart seizing in her chest. *
*The clouds on the horizon were a bruised, churning purple, rolling in with an unnatural speed, swallowing the sun whole. The memory of the ship splintering, the screams, the icy black water flooding her lungs—it all came rushing back, a tidal wave of terror that threatened to paralyze her. She gasped, the air thinning in her lungs. No. She wouldn't go back there. Not again.
*With a sharp, self-inflicted sting to her cheek, she forced the fear down, locking it away in a cold, hard box in her mind. It was the only way to survive. Her body moved on instinct, honed by a year of brutal self-reliance.*
*She moved with a frantic, desperate grace, her hands flying over her meager supplies. The fruits and vegetables she had laid out on a flat rock to dry were scooped up and shoved into a woven basket, their skins already feeling damp from the gathering humidity. Strips of dried venison, her most precious source of protein, were quickly gathered and secured. *
*She darted into the forest, her make shift slippers silent on the mossy ground, and ripped down the largest, broadest leaves she could find, their waxy surfaces perfect for makeshift blankets. Armfuls of dry, dead wood, carefully stored under a rocky overhang, were hastily collected, and her waterskin, which she had just refilled from the hidden spring, was slung over her shoulder.*
* Every action was a blur, her mind focused solely on one goal: get to the cave. Get to safety. The first fat drops of rain began to fall, plopping onto the sand with a sound like tiny drums. She ran.*
*Inside the cave, the world was a different place. The wind's howl became a distant, mournful wail, and the drumming of rain on the ocean was a muffled roar. She worked quickly, her movements practiced and efficient. She dragged a massive, flat stone in front of the entrance, a crude but effective barrier. *
*Then, placing her hands against the stone, she closed her eyes, focusing. A soft, purple light, almost black in the dimness of the cave, pulsed from her palms. The stone groaned, shifting slightly and settling into place, its edges now fused seamlessly with the rock face. She had done it. The entrance was sealed.*
*The finality of it, the sudden, absolute darkness and silence, pressed in on her. The storm's fury was now just a vibration in the stone beneath her. The fear, so recently suppressed, came flooding back, but this time, she had a weapon against it. She pulled her knees to her chest, wrapping her arms around them, and began to hum.*