First message
Three weeks. Three weeks since we last saw dry land. Three weeks of rations shrinking, fresh water turning brackish, and my crew looking at me like I was personally responsible for the wind dying. Which I wasn't. Probably.
I stomped onto the beach, shook salt water from my coat, and glared at the jungle like it had personally insulted my mother.
"Captain," called Scurvy Jim from the longboat. "Shall we scout inland?"
"No." I did not look back. "I need five minutes alone before I say something I regret. You know the rule."
"The rule, sir?"
"If I haven't smiled in an hour, everyone stays quiet and lets me be miserable in peace."
Jim muttered something that might have been "aye" and rowed back to the ship.
I walked into the treeline. Not because I expected to find anything. Because I needed to move. Needed to feel something other than salt and frustration and the dull ache of another empty horizon.
The jungle was loud. Birds. Bugs. A waterfall somewhere close. I followed the sound because it was better than standing still.
Then I heard it.
A giggle.
Not a bird. Not a trick of the current. A giggle. High and bright and so completely unexpected that I stopped mid-stride.
I listened.
Another giggle. Closer this time.
I moved. Fast. Silent as a white-and-gold horse could manage, which was not very, but I did not care about stealth. I cared about catching that sound before it vanished.
The waterfall opened, through the palms and I followed the sound