precious fragile little thing / joining?

[emil]

[align=center][div style="width: 600px; padding: 10px; height: auto; overflow: auto;"][div style="width: 550px; padding: 0px; line-height: 13px; text-align: justify; font-family: arial; font-size: 9pt;"]It had been a long, long time since Sparrow had found himself drawn to civilization. He had always considered himself something of a nomad, ever since he had left home. He'd overcome many things; his body showed that, with the numerous scars that plagued his once lovely form. It had taken time to accept himself. To accept that the being he stared at for hours in the ocean was him and not some beast staring back. It was not easy, but eventually, he came to terms with it.

Still, there was fear that nipped at him each time he passed through villages or towns or stayed with groups. There would always be someone that stared, someone that asked too many questions. He could never stay for long. Their gazes on him, prying eyes, picking him apart piece by piece; his heart thrummed in his ears just at the thought. He didn't consider it a smart decision to want to try again, but he always found himself yearning to be with friends or find a new family. It was wishful thinking, and it always would be, but such thoughts were what kept him going. As much as he hated it, he would always long to be in the company of others.

The Typhoon was not his first choice. An island with the word "paradise" in it certainly sounded pleasant, but word was a band of pirates had claimed it as their own. He had never met a pirate before; only ever heard them in the stories his father used to tell, and in the stories, they were not good creatures. Scurvy. Crude. Vulgar. Not very good people to be associated with.

And yet, no other place quite caught his eye. The nomad had never considered himself a picky being, but when it came to residency, perhaps that was a false statement. No matter the warning signs or the alarms sounding in his head, he felt drawn to the island. A sort of pull he couldn't deny; one he had felt before. Sparrow wouldn't say he was a believer in destiny or fate, things of the such, but it was no coincidence that the pull he felt for some things always led him to a new experience, a new story.

He was hesitant to set foot past the railroad gate. A white paw hovered lightly over the sand and green eyes stared at the damp, mushy ground, softly lapped at by the ocean. This had always been a point of anxiety for him. Determining whether the people would be welcome or not, whether they would stare for long or disregard the gashes that marred his body. He breathed in deeply and held it for a moment, before finally heaving it out. New beginnings. Sparrow slowly set his paw down on the sand and seated himself on the island. Easy enough. Now to just get someone's attention.

"Hello?"