Night

The night dragged on, but sleep eluded her; weariness failed to overtake her tired body.  Lost's thoughts were in control this night.  Thoughts of many things: past, present, and future.  Why she was left abandoned on the island... That the fire had burned out, leaving her cold and unprotected... Would the trade winds bring saviors to her...

She tossed and turned in the tiny lean-to.  Too addled to find any solutions, too frustrated to give up on their pursuit, her mind drifted in and out of a shallow, uneasy sleep filled with half-awake dreams of memories and unformed plans.  This was not a restful slumber, but all the worry and chill of the night prevented her from getting what she needed to take on the following day: proper rest.  As the light of dawn crept into her small shelter, she was ill prepared to face it.  But...face it she must.

Flames

Lost didn't have any desire to wander farther into the trees than needed, but this close to the shore there was minimal tinder to perhaps start a fire with.  After hunting along the treeline, she resigned herself to venturing a bit deeper.  Dead branches hung low from some of the trees, and she hacked them off and gathered them up near her primitive lean-to.  There was plenty to think about in the time it took to properly strike the bit of flint she carried with the blunt side of the sword.  What else lived here?  Who were Lost's new neighbors?  This concerned her greatly...

The sun was low on the horizon by the time the damp kindling lit up.  She would be going to "bed" hungry tonight; there wasn't time or equipment to hunt, yet.  She added weapon construction to her growing mental task list; it was getting rather long as more and more necessities crossed her mind.  With a bit of flame fighting back against the coming dusk, Lost curled up under the woven leaves.

Vines or Rope

The short sword her former crew had left her with did little to aid Lost in her construction efforts, but it was still an improvement over her own bare hands.  She quickly resigned herself to the fact that tonight's shelter would have to be simple and temporary.  The current goal was safety, as best as could be achieved, considering the circumstances; comfort would have to come later. Hacking at low branches and vines soon yielded a small cache of resources.  The vines were not all that different in texture from the rigging aboard the Compass; upon tying a knot that was second nature to her, there was a catch in her throat as her eyes flicked briefly out towards the shore.  The familiar was dangerous, here.  It was a lie.  The vine was superficially similar to the ropes she had handled above the seas, but they were not the ropes of the Rusty Compass, no matter how much it felt that way when she blinked and could not see her surroundings.  Thus far, the vines has not hidden any thorns to prick her, but there was no way of knowing what would be found as she continued her tasks.  Diligence was needed, not the distraction of motor memories.

Pondering The Trees

If this island was to be Lost's new home, best make it a worthy home.  In its current state, it was merely another idyllic tropical island - lovely, but functionally inhospitable. The shore would not do; the time spent at sea aboard the Rusty Compass had taught her that waves are unpredictable at best, deadly at their worst.  No, she would have to go inland.  Over her shoulder, she could see the treeline was not far; the water was not all that removed from the local vegetation.

...Unknown...  The unknown was beyond the treeline; the shore had few hiding spaces for the unsavory to lurk, but into the woods...who knew.  Deep breath.  Lost could not survive exclusively along the shore, so to the trees she must venture sooner or later.  It was an easy decision: sooner.  Before nightfall; before that which is unwilling to wander in daylight creeps out under the stars.  Deep breath.  She must face all the island has in store; there is no way off, so best to master it before it masters her.  Looking again with equal parts longing and good-riddance at the speck on the horizon, she rises and brushes some of the clinging sand off.  Deep breath.  Better now than never; timid, wary steps make way for assertive strides across the gap into the island's flora.

Absent

The ship sailed off; Lost was now alone on the island.  The pirates had left with the treasure and the rum, which was entirely uncivilized of them.  As she sat with legs outstretched in the sand, contemplating her newfound solitude, the water lapped at her ankles and sogged up her skirt.  The sun was warm, but it was not yet to the days when its flames would drive her to shaded solitude.  The sound of the ocean drowned out everything but the drifting, shifting, meandering thoughts inside her mind.  Perhaps life will improve without the pirates' tendencies towards troublemaking; perhaps not...  No one can see the future clearly until it is the present, and then it blurs again just as quickly into the past.  Absent now are the lovers, rivals, tricksters, captains, minions, victims, relations, and strangers.  Alone on the island, with sand and waves for companions, perhaps some new clarity could be obtained.

Idle time sitting in the ebb and flow of the tides does little to ease an empty belly, though, so Lost eventually rose and began preparing for some of the possibilities that strayed through her thoughts.