I had failed. In more ways than one. Bacardi had been so welcoming, and when he announced that everyone was moving to the bay. I was scared, more than anything. Because a new place, under another’s rule, meant more horses. I had barely gotten used to the idea of living in the same vicinity as Bacardi, and I had spotted another in the midst as well. That had been more than enough for me to deal with. The constant fear, the looking over my shoulder everywhere I went. But then he announced he was leaving, I was welcome to come, so was the other. She took him up on it. I was afraid to speak up. So I hid. Soon, newcomers came to the Savanna, and I was even more terrified. I set off along the shore until I knew I had no choice but to swim. But, little did I know, I was going the wrong direction.

I had never particularly been good at knowing where I was heading. And in a land I had no idea where what was? Even worse. I headed back towards the Crossing Isle, unfortunately, when I should have been heading north towards Tinuvel. Standing on the shores of the falls, I groaned, weary bones causing me to falter in my steps. I couldn’t make that long swim again. There was no way. I’d wear myself out halfway through and drown, I knew I would. So I figured, they wouldn’t be mad if I just walked the edge of the shoreline towards the tip of the island, right?

So that’s where I went. Along the shore up to the northern tip of the island, knowing I was in another land, one I had heard whispers of, it was called the Peak. What that meant, I had no idea. But I knew I had to hide as I went along the shore. But, I wasn’t quiet enough. Not when I reached the tip of the island. It had taken longer than I wanted, way too long. Would Bacardi even accept me after all this time? The trip from Savanna, to the falls, and up the coast of the peak.

I took breaks, yes. Only to find myself waking up to the drooling face of a few starving foxes. Panic rose in my chest. What seemed like hours later, I was finally back in the water, gritting my teeth against the sting of the salt water in the open wounds. I swam harder than I knew I had in me, pushing myself as fast as I could to make it happen.

It felt like ages had passed, before I found myself with a heaving chest on the tip of the bay’s shore. The most southern point of the island. I was more than exhausted. I had wounds and bites all along my back, shoulders, neck and legs. The little fuckers were nasty beasts. It had taken its toll. The wounds weren’t terribly deep, they were gashes and punctures. Nothing too life threatening. The bleeding had stopped due to the salt water. Now, they just stung. Nothing more to it. I hated that I came to the bay looking like this…bedraggled mess. But, that’s kind of who I was…. Right? I felt like that was what I was good at, causing mess after mess, being nothing but a burden. Maybe I had made a mistake coming here. What ifs, they crossed my mind in a never ending stream. I lifted my head, barely able to call out for Bacardi before laying my head back into the sand. Not caring if I got sand in the cuts, again.

TAG:BACARDI. WORD COUNT: 610.