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CHAPTER TWO ( pirates of poguelandia )
MINUTES HAD PASSED AND CORDELIA WAS STILL WATCHING THE SIX STRANGERS FROM the tree line— hidden away behind the wide palm leaves and the thick ferns.
At first she had just stood there, marveling at them like they were the most incredible thing since sliced bread, trying to regain her bearings before emerging from the jungle to greet them. Her mouth was suddenly dry at the thought of talking to another human being after all this time in solitude. But the more she listened and the longer she observed, suspicion began to chase her giddiness away.
There was something unusual about them.
They looked about her age, but spoke and carried themselves unlike any group of people she'd ever encountered before. It was clear they were from The States due to their accents, but their words lacked any ounce of elegancy and poise— they lacked poise in every way. Their clothes were jaw-dropping. The girls were in some sort of decorative undergarments she'd never seen before, and one of the guys didn't even have anything covering his upper body. There was so much exposed skin. Between the unbuttoned, oddly bright tops and the lack of sleeves and coverage all together, she almost felt like the responsible thing to do would be avert her gaze.
Everything about their presence baffled her, but what really made her head spin was the mention of gold.
"This is the lowest we can go. We literally have nothing else to lose!" the boy not wearing a shirt gestured in frustration towards the waves lapping at the foamy shoreline. He had dark skin and a toned figure, short hair and a beaded necklace around his bare chest. "The cross? Gone."
"The gold, gone."
That couldn't be a coincidence.
Cordelia's eyes widened theatrically for a split second, locking onto the girl from which the statement had come; tuning everything else out for a moment. She could only see the back of her head from where she sat at the base of a tree, golden hair blowing daintily in the salty zephyr; soft freckles dappling her fair arms.
What was the connection? How could this girl know about the gold?
Half-listening to their conversation, she took in the appearances of the other four teenagers— still unable to get past their odd clothing. Surely people in America didn't dress and speak this differently.
The one doing most of the talking had colorful artwork of fruit printed on his largely unbuttoned shirt; an untamable mass of honey-tinged, sunshine soaked curls on his head.
