"Hey!"


    She called out, instinctively lowering her weapon.


    "Come back here!"


    The whispers ceased abruptly. The woods stood in this uncanny silence as Frieda warily made her way to where she had last seen the figure. Brushing aside a low-hanging branch, she found a narrow path leading further into the forest, half-hidden amidst the undergrowth.


    There were fresh tracks in the soft ground, tiny, barefoot tracks leading away from the clearing. Frieda didn''t hesitate long to follow, compelled by the desire for answers and the first hint that she was not by herself on this peculiar beach.


    The path curled through increasingly denser vegetation, the light dimming as the forest appeared to wrap itself around her. It was only her combat training that prevented her from becoming totally disoriented as the trail twisted and backtracked repeatedly.


    Finally, the path opened into a second clearing, smaller than the first but no less distinct. Where the first had the stone altar, this one featured a small crude hut constructed of branches and leaves.


    And standing in front of the shelter, holding what looked like a crude spear and staring up at Frieda with wide, terrified eyes, was a child.


    A child? Alone in this wilderness?


    A girl, not more than twelve years old at Frieda''s guess, with startling white hair that hung in matted tangles around a grimy face. She wore clothing made from good quality fabric, now worn nearly to nothing. Hanging around her neck was a strange well-made pendant.


    The girl held her spear in trembling hands, a defensive stance on display. Fearful as she obviously was, she stood her ground, eyes never leaving Frieda''s face. Her chin and hands were streaked with blood, a sign of a recent meal, likely consisting of raw meat.


    The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.


    Frieda carefully lowered her rifle and shifted the strap to hold it across her back, and held up empty hands in a gesture of peace that was universally understood by anyone. The girl eased a little, although suspicion was etched in every line of her body.


    "Hello,"


    Frieda spoke softly, believing her words would not be comprehended but hoping her tone of voice would be interpreted.


    "I''m not an enemy, I''m not going to hurt you, look."


    The girl tilted her head, white hair shifting to reveal a nasty scar running from temple to jaw on the right side of her face. She replied in a language unlike any Frieda had encountered, it sound harsh but beautiful... Similiar and reminding her native language.


    Speech would naturally be difficult, but the fact that there was another human being present gave her hope. Frieda slowly reached into her pocket and pulled out some of the dried ration she had been able to salvage from the ship. The kid tracked her motion with wide-eyed interest.


    Frieda held out the offering and took a step forward. The girl checked it immediately, spear point rising. Frieda stopped, then placed the food on the ground and stepped back. For several tense moments, neither of them moved. Then, with the wariness of a wild animal, the girl sprang forward, snatched up the food, and returned to her former position. She sniffed uncertainly at the unfamiliar material, then took a tentative bite. Her eyes opened wide with wonder, and she wolfed down the remainder eagerly.


    There was a partial relaxing across her face, not trust, maybe, but the beginnings of curiosity to complement Frieda''s own.


    "Well," she said quietly, "looks like we have one or two things to learn from each other."


    The far-off noise of rustling in the bushes made them both look up. The girl''s head jerked up, face changing in an instant from cautious curiosity to terror.


    Before Frieda could reply, the bushes at the edge of the clearing started to shake furiously. Whatever was coming was big, bigger than the fox-like animal she had seen last night. The little girl was already moving back behind Frieda.


    Frieda unslinged her rifle with a ease born of much practice, thumbing off the safety as she drew a bead on the trembling leaves. The bushes parted and Frieda''s finger grew tight on the trigger as something enormous was about to burst into the clearing.