//nothing to reply to ICly, but feel free to comment if you want
1,685 words

It had been about a day and a half since he had more or less washed up on the shores of what has come to be known as the Typhoon. All of his wounds, some infected and some not, were treated by the four-eyed one called Rosemary. Later on he had been ushered to the Inn, lead to the upper floors where he found several beds. He could stay there until he found his own home, they told him. ”Let us know when yer ready to head out to Haven Island, yeah? We’ll be outside th’ door.” With that, the door closed and he was alone.

Ska’arq gazed around the room, ultimately selecting a bed closest to a window in the corner. The escorts had helped lug his sack of belongings all the way up, and he grabbed it in his jaws and dragged it over. Gripping the edges of the bag he tugged it open, then reached in and fished something out. It was a book. A journal, rather, with crude, hand-made pages and a leather bound cover.

Staring at it, the dragon recalled the day he had received it. One face, blue and smiling, watched him unwrap his gift; the other two blatantly ignored him. ”I always see you scribbling in the dirt," the kind voice explained. This face was his mother, and this day was their hatchday. She places a pencil on top of the very cover he is staring at, like the figurative cherry on top. "I thought you might like something to keep your thoughts in." He had looked up to meet her eyes, which glinted with something that he couldn't quite place at the time. Later on in his life, he would recognize it to have been judgment. He would never figure out why.

The dragon set the book back in the bag and pulled on the strings to close it. Various notes and scribbles had filled every little gap of open space in that book - an absolute mess. When he had later on obtained more journals, he had organized them much better. (In fact, he had no other belongings. The entire sack was filled top to bottom with journals.)

Shoving the sack halfway under the bed, he stood up and headed toward the door. The voices of his escorts on the other side brought him to a halt. Walking quietly now, he got closer and decided to listen.

”Don’tcha think this guy is kinda freaky?” It was the first guard that had spoken to him.

”He acts like he’s never felt happy a day in his life,” the other agreed. ”A downright drag, that one.”

The first pirate hummed. ”Wot’che think he’ll see on Haven Island?”

A moment of silence followed the question.

”Nightmare. Definitely.”

”Yeah, I can’t imagine this guy gettin’ many flowers ‘n’ rainbows out there. Nightmare fer sure.” A snort followed his statement. ”What’s takin’ this guy so fuckin’ long?” Impatience soured his tone.

It was then that Ska’arq stepped away from the door, this time making some noise. ”I have selected a bed. I am ready to head to Haven Island.” The two escorts had explained the ritual on the way to the Inn, and he had a fair idea of what would entail. Pushing the door open, he stepped out into the hall, glancing between the two smaller animals. The gruff, accented one was a scruffy dog, and the other was a sleek siamese cat.

While the dog stared at him with a barely suppressed glare, the feline flicked a dark brown tail and walked past him. ”This way, fella.” Ska’arq began to follow, and the dog brought up the rear. Without pausing, the siamese looked back at him. ”Are you sure you don’t wanna wait until your wounds are all healed up? Some say that this can be a rough experience. Don’t want you roughing yourself up or anything.” He shrugged, then continued to watch the ground in front of them as he began to hop down the stairs. ”I mean, the island itself is perfectly safe, but that jungle juice is some wild stuff.”

The purple reptile thought this over for a moment. He had asked several questions before arriving at the Inn. The juice would not make him sick. He had to do it regardless, if he wanted to stay here. He would be alone on the island, and what he saw would stay to himself. The ritual starts at sundown - which would be soon - and ends when the sun rises, generally just enough time for the effects of the jungle juice to wear off. Eventually, he decided he wouldn’t put it off. He would be in no mortal danger. ”I will do the ritual tonight. I see no reason to put it off.”

The siamese nodded, and held the front door open as the group stepped outside. Slipping past him, the dog stopped at the cat’s side. ”Let’s go, then, ah?” he rumbled. ”Off with ye. We’ll lead’ja to the dock ‘n’ no furtha.”

---

By the time they had reached the dock, the sun had touched the horizon and spread an angry red along the edge of the clouds. The scruffy dog frowned at the sky, but said nothing.

Feeling a nudge on the leg, he looked down to see the siamese ushering him onward. ”Quickly now,” he said. ”Don’t wanna be too late.”

When he was given a corked bottle that contained the jungle juice, there was little hesitation as he drank it. Relatively flavorless, but it left an aftertaste of salt and berries.

The two sat down as he began to walk along the dock, but when he looked back some time later, they were gone.

Rippling saltwater splashed against the supporting posts, the only noise that accompanied his steps along the time-worn wood. Never before had he seen water this clear and bright, he thought to himself as he drew closer to the island. Wood turned into sand, which turned into grass. Dusk was casting its shadow on the world, shrouding the jungle in darkness as Ska'arq stepped into it.

Surrounded by foliage and trees, the noise of the sea gave way to silence. Absolute silence? No, listen carefully. The wind was rustling in the leaves. Listen, listen. Listening. The dragon closed his eyes. A rustle to his left brought an attentive cyan stare to land on the ferns. No, nothing was there. Haven island was uninhabited. At the moment, the population was him and him alone.

But he didn't feel- he didn't feel alone. Was he being watched? Did his escorts follow him onto the island? Ska'arq opened his jaws to call out. His voice failed him. He tapped his foot. This was a private ritual. From what he understood, following and watching someone during the night would be rude. Rude, rude. Very rude. He mouthed the word, but his voice still didn't seem to want to work.

He couldn't sit still anymore. His muscles itched to get up, and he obeyed, beginning to pace back and forth. Shadows were beginning to play tricks on him. Figuratively. Yes, figuratively. Shadows were not alive. They could not play tricks. Not real, not real. Not real, not real, not real. Why was he so restless? It wasn't often that he had such excess energy. Was the drink working? Was he hallucinating right now? Was this entire jungle fake?

The dragon ran forward and swiped at a tree, recoiling when his hand cracked painfully against the bark. It was definitely real. Squinting in the dark, he inspected his hand and flexed it. Not broken. Fine. He sat down. Waited. He stood up. He began to pace again. How long had it been now? A few minutes? Hours? Was sunrise only moments away?

Breath hitching in his chest, which itched in an indescribable way, he let it out in a long wheeze. Ska'arq began to make faces, mimicking the expressions he had seen and studied so many times before. Happiness! Smile! Disappointment. Frown. Sadness. Scrunched up agony. Pain. Rage. Jealousy. Joy, bravery, awe, fear, tranquility, surprise, fear, guilt, excitement, fear, curiosity, envy, fear, smugness, fear, disgust, fear, fear, fear-

Fear?

Yes, fear.

The most fascinating...

A splat from behind brought him to turn around. The darkness seemed to melt around him, seeping in like a hungry mist, but he could spot a shape lying in the grass. Grass? No, it was lying on stone. Right, how could he be so blind?

Stepping forward to investigate the mass, he stopped when his foot landed in something wet. A coppery scent, overpowering and suffocating, began to fill the area. Where? What was the source? Looking around, he saw nothing. The darkness was too thick. He took a step back, and bumped into something. A shuddering breath reached his ears. Was it his? No- he let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding.

The liquid on his hand was drying now, and his fingers were sticking together. He licked them. It was blood. Was he injured? His injuries were treated.

Ska'arq was struggling to make out the thing he had bumped into, squinting, when he heard a soft, broken whisper behind him.

"Why?"

That voice. He turned back to the heap on the stone. Stared at it.

"You are dead."

"Why?"

Why? Because-

"Because why?"

Because... No. No, it wasn't real. None of it was. The blood was not real. They were not here. They are there, and...

His heart was a void. From his understanding, he should be sad right now. Or perhaps scared? What should he be feeling? What was the appropriate response to this situation?

Ska'arq began to scream. He screamed, and screamed. Was there anything in his voice? No. So why, then, did he scream? There was no reason. Did he want anything? No. Why, then?

There was no answer.

"Why?"

Why?

"Why?"

Why?

"I don't know! I don't know! I don't know!" he screeched.

Until morning, with his voice raw and beaten, he would scream. What else could he do?

What else?