Winds of Fate [Books IV - VI]

Chapter 169.1: Guantánamo

Whoosh. Whoosh.

The rolling of the waves over the sands fill Eleanore's ear in the next moment after total darkness. Slowly, her lungs manage to get a gentle, longer breath, and the sound of the sea is joined by the call of foreign birds and annoying cricket shaking their legs. Hmmm. Cold wind blows over her face...

And her boots squelch with seawater.

She flutters her eyes open and sits up in fear. But the world is now dark, well into the evening. Damn it. Eleanore slaps her face. I slept all day. How... But her question on how she was left unscathed on the beach can easily be answered: there is not one soul on the stretch of coast, now illuminated by moonlight and stars. Unnerved, Eleanore embraces herself for naught; her gown has been soaking. And I have no other clothes.

Behind her are palm trees and their inviting, large green leaves.

"Oh, no." She looks down at her gown. It will not do; the tattered, soaked skirt will pull her down with every step, and the wet stays will chill her. But unwilling to try her luck with the leaves, Eleanore decides to risk the cold for the meanwhile. She clambers to the nearest large tree, props up two large palm fronds to hide in, and begins repurposing the Dutch mauve—now thoroughly brown—gown. All around her, the forest breathes quietly, with winds whistling above and hushing, crickets and fireflies beating their wings and the latter giving a glimmer to break the swallowing darkness of the rainforest. Eleanore swallows. With what light the moon gives, she could see the forest rise... into a hill,  or a mountain range... where fog, cold and misty, crowns the dark, rugged tops.

And one disturbing thought fills her as she rips the skirt open.

This is not Havana, is it.

Before her heart could react to that horrible realization, a booming croak from probably the world's largest toad reverberates through the trees and Eleanore jolts. Her fingers, still frozen at the joints and wrinkled from being drench all day, finish tugging and fixing her gown into a blouse and bloomers to free her legs for walking, and make her more nimble should she need to. And she fears she does. For the forest is thick, as if no one has tread into its paths for a hundred years.

Hola? Eleanore swallows loudly, gazing into the foliage. Her heart hammers hard in her chest. A forest has many things. Large toads... venomous snakes. Of course she knows how to take out the poison, but if it bites her where she cannot reach it—like her ankle—sucking is out of the option. Before her thoughts tread into even darker territories than her reality, she takes a deep, deep breath.

First, find a village. Anything, with a person in it. Her crude Spanish, one her dear Anton insisted she learn, would get her by to survive, at least. But one cannot find anything in this darkness. "If I wait..." Eleanore sighs up at the night sky. Still purple at some places. "I'll lose time."

And some wild beast my think I'm a nice snack!

Horrified at that possible fate, Eleanore rolls up her sleeves and goes about gathering branches. If there was one thing Papa had imparted as a soldier, was how to survive at sea or on land. It was he who thought her how to distinguish ships—to discern who would be a friend or foe. It was he who thought her that water would be essential, and sugary food as well, when one has to get by in the wild. It was he who insisted she learn this, and back then, she imperiously said it'll be only useful for their hearth.

Papa had smiled. You'll do anything just to get out of training, Elle.

Her heart crumples, at the reminder of his smile. The corner of his eyes would crinkle, and his cheeks would be as round as apples. Eleanore pauses at her work, surprised at how the sticks tremble in her grasp. Admiral George... She bites her lip as she closes her fists tighter on the sticks. Thibaud told me the Admiral was George... and I never thought...