My stay on Clementine is a blur, and much of it has blended together so I can’t recall the order of events nor the exactness of each. I had no one to speak with each day, and by the end of it I was absolutely ready to return to civilization so much that I didn’t really care to think of my days on that Altera forsaken island, so I will use this segment of the story to relay basic information and anecdotes to display what life was, in general, like during my stay on Clementine before I return to the story in its chronology.

As you plainly gathered from the first day, food was the only thought on my mind. So that was the first problem I went out to solve. My second day was spent searching the half of Clementine I had available to me for plantlife of some kind, so I did. I used my dagger to make marks on trees so I’d remember where I had been, and made my rounds on the island during the brightest hours of the day.

And I found nothing.

I found plants that grew, sure, and plenty of flowers colored by painters dreams. I found mushrooms blooming on all sorts of surfaces, all fluorescent and bright, filled with an ethereal light which sent chills up and down my spine. I found insects of all sorts roaming the island, and rodents which ran the moment I saw them, and birds who flew too far for me to follow. And I found pawprints, too large for me to stand in, too familiar for me to linger near.

But I found no apples, no oranges. No grapes nor nuts. Nothing I knew to be edible grew naturally on Clementine.

The sun was nearly set on the second day, and I returned to my cave, ridiculously tired but also alert due to the starvation kicking in, or at least the idea of it. It had only been two full days since I had eaten, a little more, but it was the idea that I was going to starve that kept me awake and alert, unable to relax.

And in that racing of my mind, an idea eventually struck me as a decent one.

Though I couldn’t kill an animal, and there were no plants, I was surrounded by water, and there was a river which ran through the middle of Clementine, going through the mountains I had made my home in. The sun was still in view when I reached the river, unsure of how exactly to go about getting a fish, and even less sure of how to create a fire after I had one. Eating raw fish seemed like a poor idea.

I entered the river once I removed my clothes, only holding onto my dagger so I might be able to get a fish that way. There were plenty of fish in the river, and they all looked edible, which encouraged me, confirming my decision to be a sound one. Fishing would keep me alive.

If I could catch one.

I quickly found my speed to be no match for the speed of a fish underwater, and I left the river with my proverbial ears drooping low.

Just as I was about to leave the river, my foot hit something hard, and when I looked down I saw a line of shells along the rocks on the side of the river. Looking closer showed me that they were what appeared to be mussels, which was something served infrequently back in Persea. And I felt like crying seeing them, because I remembered hearing long ago that they were fine to eat raw.

Mussels were as close to apples as I was going to get.

So I grabbed one from where it was, shaking the water off of it, then I tried prying it open with my fingers. That didn’t work as well as I had hoped, so I bashed it open with the butt of my dagger. Sage would probably not be too happy with that, since he was so fond of it, but I needed food then and there. Once it was busted open and the shell fell to the ground, I grabbed the meat with my slimy hands and sent it into my mouth and directly down my throat, not wasting time chewing it. Seafood isn’t normally something I crave, shellfish especially. And it would have definitely been better cooked in a broth or something.

But that was the tastiest thing I’ve ever had in my whole life.

Knowing then that I had a source of food that would remain with me for thirty days, I grabbed a few more and ate them, then decided to head back and sleep. My second day was successful, and I wasn’t even threatened by a predator like the first day. Suddenly, thirty days didn’t seem so bad.

The next week perhaps, maybe more maybe less, went by without any real issues or crazy things happening. My general routine was to grab some mussels when I woke up, then I’d search the immediate area around those mountains to see if that weird flower monster was around, then when I couldn’t find it I’d attempt to train alone. Considering I was still so new to actually trying to get stronger, and Sage left me all alone, understand that my training was not really helpful during this time. In general, I would do do physical exercise like running and climbing things, I’d go for a swim in the river and see if I could actually catch a fish to no luck as usual, and I’d swing my dagger around a bit, pretend fighting someone who wasn’t there, dodging them when I felt they’d attack and swiping when an opening was presented. Then I’d go down to the river again, engorge on the mussels which were slowly becoming less delicious but simultaneously more necessary, drink some of that odd but cool water, check the perimeter again and head to sleep.

For five to eight days, I did this without interruption, issues, or problems. I received no injuries, wasn’t hunted, didn’t hunt any animals or birds just the fish I couldn’t catch, and that was that. Sure I’d ponder what Sage was doing, or how Conifer and Rose were, what my mother was up to. And when the sun set, those thoughts would run wild, tearing through my head and leaving scars on my heart. And despite all that, I don’t remember any of them; they were all the imaginations of a lonely, bored boy.

Once those days passed, however, I met that monster again. It was getting close to sun down, and everything had a pinkish hue to it. I was coming around the side of the mountain which housed my cave when I saw the beast, still limping, attempting to climb up the mountain opposite of mine. My heart began racing, and despite its obviously poor condition I felt it would attack me if it saw me, so I crouched down and hid where the ground was bumpy and rocky.

The only way to the river was to pass this mountain, unless I wanted to travel further into the forest. I could have done that, but I’m a stubborn man and was a stubborn boy, so I stayed there, watching it keep sliding down, digging his massive claws into that mountain side like its life depended on it. It did this until the sun finished setting, at which point it slid to the bottom of the mountain in a wet slide made of its blood droplets, shook its flowery mane in ignominy, and sulked away on wobbling legs, deep into the forestry and away from me. When I was sure it was gone for good, I returned to my cave and wondered what it had been doing that for.

And I continued to wonder, each passing day, as I would return home and witness the same ordeal, a trial of futility. Seeing a predators wings so neatly clipped should have given me a sense of satisfaction, or at least let me feel good about surviving those thirty days. Instead, though, each time I saw it slide back down after a particularly stellar attempt, I’d feel pangs of regret, even a desire to help somehow. I was unsure why.

Before I knew it, the evening ritual was for me to hide away and watch the attempt to climb that sheer mountain wall, and carry the disappointment back to my cave where I’d ponder the situation. The thought that kept returning to me, the one I’d ask over and over again without answer, was shouldn't I just go over and try and help? The beast had at least stopped its horrible bleeding, but even so it was still in pain and not getting better with these attempts. I should help.

Then its eyes would flash in my head, and I’d whimper in that cold island home and attempt to sleep through the marish night.

On an evening watch of the creature’s boorish climb and fall routine, I had grown weary of hiding as I had been and without realizing it sat down on a rock in plain sight, watching it climb and slide, climb and slide, wheezing with each and every step, when I heard a call in the sky far away from where I sat. I didn’t think much of it; it must have been birds. But soon, there was a response of another bird, calling back. And it crescendoed into such a cacophony that it surprised me that the creature kept climbing, unperturbed by the weight of the sound.

In me rose a primal fear that screamed.

From behind me, the call had become thunderous, and a cloud of birds zoomed over me and dove straight for the creature. And when they landed, I realized it was in more danger than I could have imagined.

They were massive, each bird the size of an adult woman, their wings double that length. Their feathers were long and dark, speckled with red that was either blood or a part of their coat, I couldn’t tell. The feathers around their head grew more fine, more rusty, a brownish red the color of dried blood, and their golden eyes twitched in all directions, searching and searching for poachers encroaching their own poaching.

I ran toward them, and felt my heart pounding so hard it nearly gave me a headache. Drawing my dagger, I took as deep and calm a breath as I could despite the situation in an attempt to remain calm, and tried to physically pull out the Vastmire in me. There had to be somewhere between ten and thirteen of them, which meant that I had to be fast and precise, something I couldn’t be without more help.

Closing my eyes for just a second, I called to it from inside my head, searching with my feelings deep inside me for that hidden strength. When I thought I had it, I opened my eyes and leapt at the first one from behind and sliced at its back. I was there in time, and the dagger glided through its spine with the ease I’d come to expect of it, though in a battle like this it gave me butterflies. Pivoting on my foot, I went for the next one and felt my enthusiasm dwindle.

The Vastmire wasn’t there to help me. I couldn’t access it on my own.

The entire flock of big ugly seagulls turned their dull heads toward me, a new and obviously unprepared enemy with enough meat to be dessert at the very least. They clacked their beaks with an almost inquisitive sound, like a group of children seeing something for the first time.

While they did this, I drove the dagger into the nearest one and pulled up, slicing it open through its ribcage. I had no chance of getting through this if I stood around watching them watching me. They all turned their heads to their friends new corpse, and in that moment I sliced at the next one's neck, nearly decapitating it.

I wasn’t that strong on my own. I resolved to thank Sage profusely for the dagger he’d given me.

After the third attack, I felt a beak clamp down on my arm and pulled away fast. Blood welled where my skin had been, and I wanted desperately to see what the damage was but was too preoccupied.

Instead, I backed up, eyeing the remainder to see who would come at me first. They had created a semi circle, stepping away from the creature and moving towards me, recognizing me as their one and only opponent.

I took a deep, shaky breath and gripped the dagger tighter.

In that instant, the rightmost bird launched at me and knocked me to the ground in surprise. By this I mean, it didn’t touch me at all. I was so surprised by the sudden movement I fell over, onto my back like a turtle, dagger held up in a feeble attempt at defense. It missed me with its beak, expecting me to be much taller than I was at that moment, and using this I cut its belly from below, raining blood all over my right arm and shoulder, flecks getting on my face. I was very lucky to have none get in my eyes.

Crawling out from under that one, I was greeted with two sets of beaks clapping at me hungrily. Reacting without thinking, I sliced at the beaks, which could have gone poorly had my dagger not been so ridiculously sharp. It sliced straight through them, leaving them mouthless and confused and in more pain than I could possibly imagine, gurgling out garbled caws that held a tinge of fear and imminent death. If I had time, I would have put them out of their misery. But there were still six birds left.

Getting up, I immediately ducked under a bird talon and swiped at it, missing barely and just nicking their leg. It swiped its wing at me in a wide hook and I cut off feathers, finding no meat to slice. Behind me I felt two talons hook deeply into my shoulders, and I grabbed at them fruitlessly trying to pull them free. They held tight, and soon the beat of the birds wings began pulling us into the air. So I ducked my head and awkwardly sliced the dagger at the leg holding my left shoulder and heard an ear piercing screech above me. It let go of my right shoulder, leaving its foot and some ankle on my left shoulder.

Running back in toward the one I had been fighting, I ducked under a wing and pulled right, then spun awkwardly into a slice that cut its belly but didn’t kill it. The bird did fly off toward the other one though.

The remaining four started to back off, and I was breathing heavy with the amount of energy I had expended, none of it using Vastmire. I wiped my mouth with my wrist, smearing blood on my face. Pointing my dagger at them, I shouted, “Go on! Get out of here already, you ugly pile of feathers!”

They stared at me, blinking those ugly gold orbs at me, unmoving save for the shake of wings here, a low gurgling caw there. I took a step forward and they took a few back. I smirked, unable to contain my pride.

Suddenly from behind them, the beast they had been attacking had gotten up onto its feet and let out a roar so loud it shook the ground we stood on. I thought the mountains would fall over. My hands went straight to my ears, cupping them futilely, and the remaining birds flew into the air and away.

The beast I had been protecting looked at me with blood soaked eyes, somehow maintaining a sense of royal composure despite its severe injuries. Wobbling towards me, it knelt down strangely, as if it acknowledged me.

My body almost gave out when I heard it say, “Thank you,” its voice an all consuming baritone that shook my bones the same way Conifer vibrated strings.

A noise came out of me that sounded something like, “Duah?” or, “Hermph?”

It—which I now assumed was a male, so he—was limping away when I jogged over on busted legs and said, “Wait, wait, wait a second here. You can talk?”

“Not this again,” he groaned, less from pain and more from annoyance. “First you come here uninvited, now you’re a country bumpkin. And you saved me. I’ve had enough humiliation for a lifetime from you.”

I went to ask again but before a sound could leave my throat he growled, “Leave. Me. Be.”

And I did, for all of a few seconds.

Well, I shouldn’t say that. I planned on leaving him alone for much longer, after all. I already wasn’t in the business of putting my life in danger on purpose, and he had shown me already that he could rip me apart in ways that would require more words in the human vocabulary to describe without being grotesquely inadequate in its imagery or understanding of the sheer agony he would bestow upon me. So when he said leave him alone, I figured I should.

Instead I toppled to the ground, falling on my right side. I looked up and saw the talon in my left shoulder was still holding on tightly, and I went to pull it off with my arm and saw a nasty gash that caved inward toward the muscle from where a beak had clamped me.

Seeing the injuries sent the message through my body that I should be in pain. Being unprepared for this sort of thing, I blacked out and woke up later in my cave with the monster hovering by the entryway, guarding it. When I looked at my shoulder, the talons were removed and I had some leaves covering it. I went to check my arm but a massive, yet gentle paw pressed down on me. He was there, shaking his flowery head at me.

“Don’t move,” he growled. “I put those on you with care, but they aren’t tied down or anything. If you move too much, they won’t heal you as well as they could and you will be in a lot of trouble.”

As if I wasn’t already.

I went to speak to him but he pressed down a little harder, snorted air in my face, and went back to his spot at the entrance. I passed out shortly after, too much energy lost from trying to heal my body and from fighting those bird creatures to stay awake. It was restless sleep; I would wake up in sweat, look around and see he wasn’t there. Then I’d pass out and wake up again, sprawled awkwardly and painfully across the cold cave floor, and he would be back in his spot, paws folded and head down, statuesque in his manner.

When I finally woke up for real, I was unsure of what day it was and knew only that the sun was out, he was gone, and I was hungry. Getting up, I brushed the leaves he had on me off, or what few were left, and checked my injuries. The gash on my arm was filling, slowly turning into a scab. Which meant not only was it healing, but more time had passed than I thought. My shoulder seemed alright, but I couldn’t get a proper view of it and figured I would get one at the river when I grabbed a bunch of mussels.

Leaving the cave, I felt for my dagger to make sure it was there and shambled toward the river when I saw the monster once again attempting to climb the mountain. Seeing this, something deep inside me told me I should stop and go talk to him, and it definitely wasn’t curiosity.

I was angry.

“Oy!” I called to him, standing ten steps away as he slipped back down the mountain, digging those claws into the ground to no avail.

He turned to me and glowered, eyes glistening in the sun. He didn’t ask me what, but his face got the job done well enough.

“I see you doing this every day,” I said, a bite in my voice I wasn’t expecting. “Why are you wasting your time with this? You keep reopening your injuries this way. You can’t climb that sheer wall. Just relax down here, I’ve seen you move. You can hunt and live here forever, no problem.”

He glared at me for a moment before turning around and continuing to climb. “You wouldn’t understand.”

Grimacing, I shrugged and said, “No, I guess not. If I knew you were going to give up your life like this, I probably would have just let those bird guys eat you.”

That got him to stop for a second, a few pebbles skipping down the mountain in that unsettling silence. “I thanked you already, and I repaid you. Now leave me.”

“You can’t order me around,” I said, moving in closer to him. “I’ll have you know I’m a prince, and if you try and order me around you’ll be sorry.”

“You stupid kid,” he grunted, clawing for a foot hold and not finding one. “You might be a prince in your homeland, and good for you. But here you are nothing but food. Go find your place, and be there. I’m sure if you went back to your kingdom you could relax some, your body looks more used to that than life outdoors.”

As he slid down, slowly and pitifully, I grew more aggravated than I had felt the entire time I had been on that island. It’s not that I was used to getting my way. After months of not getting my way at all, learning my way was never exactly what it had been in the first place, and in general getting the butt end of the blade for months, I was used to not getting my way at all by this point. You might even say I expected it.

But expecting and accepting aren’t the same thing.

I wasn’t ready to accept this creature’s indignance. It was obviously intelligent, it had to know it was being foolish. And if he wasn’t aware, I had to make him aware.

“You’re acting like more of a child than I am,” I said, after taking a long, deep breath and steadying my hand. It remained on the dagger all the same, gripping and letting go of the hilt rhythmically.

“Oh?” he grunted, ready for another go at climbing the sheer wall of mountain. “What makes you say that?”

“You’re trying to climb a mountain that would be difficult to climb for any creature, strong or otherwise, and you’re doing so without letting your body heal. I’m not sure what’s up there, and you’re right, I probably wouldn’t understand what you’ve gone through or what’s driving you to be this irrational.” He actually stopped, doing a little pounce to the ground and walking toward me with the inquisitive grace of a cat ready to ingest a mouse. “I do think, however, you should at least give it a rest and let your body recuperate. It’s foolish to destroy yourself before you can reach the top.” His eyes were hot, filled with anger and boring holes through my own. “I could even help you reach the top if you want me to. I haven’t got much to do, I’m sure there’s a better way to get up there.”

He continued glaring, but I had said my piece and was ready for whatever he wanted to do. Besides, his body was torn up more than mine. I was the one who saved him, after all, not the other way around. I could take him if it came to that.

Instead, though, he turned his face downward, as if the words I said knocked him so. “I apologize for what I said before, child,” he whispered, his voice still loud enough to carry over the wind. “Your voice is reason where mine iss misguided. Your offer to find another way up, while nice, is futile; there is no other way to the top than this.”

I frowned, analyzing the mountain with a more scrutinous eye than I had before. It was as if the entire thing was rubbed clean and sanded down to be perfectly smooth, there were no rocks or jutting formations or any holds to grab. “This mountain is unnatural,” I said, half serious.

“It is,” he agreed. “This mountain is where the golden king, Dil, lives.”

That made no sense to me so right away I said, “No man lives here, though. It’s only animals and other such creatures.”

I’ll never forget how subtle it was the first time I saw that creature smile at me, its eyes creased slightly, its nose crinkled, and a large, single fang protruding from its half moon mouth. “You assume all kings are men.”

“They’re not?” I asked as we walked away from that mountain, the newfound knowledge that someone or something lived on it now leaving me with a dread I hadn’t felt previously.

“Of course not, just as not all beasts are monsters and not all monsters are beasts, and not all prey are predators and vice versa.”

We made it back to the cave, and when he laid his body down, his chest slapped the floor with a resounding echo, loud enough to make me flinch. He didn’t speak then, just passed into sleep slowly. When I was sure he wasn’t going to wake up, I went back to the river, perusing for mussels as I usually did, eating some there and returning with a few to eat later and share with him if he wanted some.

He woke up the moment I got ten steps away from the entrance. His eyes shot open, adjusted to my presence, then drooped slowly into understanding.

“You awake?” I asked, clacking the shells I held in my hands in a nervous rhythm.

He grunted a yes, eyeing the mussels. “You bring river trash?”

I shook my head. “It’s food. I had some before I got here, if you want some you can—”

Without replying, he got up and walked out, shaking his head. I called out but he didn’t turn at all, and I found myself jogging after him, dropping a mussel or two on the way.

“Something the matter?” I asked. “Are mussels offensive to your kind?”

Grimacing, he asked, “You haven’t only been eating those things, have you?”

I nodded. “I haven’t got any tools to help me hunt, and when I was trying to figure out a food source I found that I was in the hunting territory of a predator.”

“A predator? Who?”

I smirked. “I’m talking with him.”

His face grew harder, but he shook his mane out all the same. “So I frightened you into eating trash?”

“Hey, say that after you taste them. They’re not that bad. They’ve kept me alive this whole time, though I guess my ribs are starting to show a little these days.”

Sighing, he said, “I know you are trying to be nice. But those things aren’t enough to keep me alive, or yourself for that matter.”

“I’m still here, aren’t I?” I said, popping another mussel. If he wasn’t going to eat them, I definitely was. My stomach wouldn’t stop growling.

Suddenly, he crouched down, staying low in the undergrowth. My eyes followed his, and saw he was staring down a rabbit. I went still, holding the mussels so carefully that I couldn’t hear their shells anymore, and I waited for what was coming.

It happened between breaths, in that small soundless moment. He burst from the bushes with such fluidity that despite the power behind his movement, he made little noise. The cries of death from his prey were equally small, subdued and caught in its killers mouth, an echo chamber. He held down with his teeth until the rabbit went still, and he placed it down on the ground with a proud look in his eyes.

“You’re here,” he said, continuing as if we never stopped speaking. “But are you alive?”

We ate the rabbit together, and his portion had to have barely been a snack for him considering his size. Mine was uncooked, with fur still on some pieces. The meat was sparse and had little fat, leaving us with little flavor to savor. I chewed slowly, feeling off. If I had been served rabbit back in the world of civilization, I’d have sent it back, especially uncooked.

By the time I was finished eating my portion, my energy levels were already heightened. The taste wasn’t as good as the mussels were uncooked, but I couldn’t deny the amount of strength I suddenly had and I wanted more. I needed more.

But I couldn’t figure out how to ask him how to hunt.

Instead I asked his name.

“I haven’t been called any name in years,” he said slowly, as if the wrong word could kill him. “Besides of course the slurs I catch from the beasts Dil sends down to kill me.”

“What do you refer to yourself as when you think then?” I asked.

He shrugged. “I don’t really refer to myself when I think.”

Frustrated, I furrowed my brow and circled him, looking at his features and trying to discern a name from them. Before he could ask what I was doing, I asked him, “What kind of flowers are those in your mane?”

“Chrysanthemums,” he chimed, almost happily.

Nodding, I settled on a name. “Chrys will do then, I think.”

I could see the uncertainty on his face and I said, “Unless of course you have a better name. I can’t keep saying you to you unless you consent.”

His tooth popped out in a small smile. “I consent. Chrys will do for now, at least.”

Outside of these few conversations, we didn’t actually speak much. Or rather, he didn’t speak much. Chrys kept to himself, only getting up to hunt meat and keep watch. I’d ask him all sorts of questions—how he could talk, how come he had flowers on his mane, and why he hadn’t killed me yet. The only one he actually decided to answer was the last one, and his answer boiled down to, “Because.”

I think we spent about three or four days together like that.

My days were mainly spent exploring the island, specifically the area surrounding the mountains to see if there were any trails or some such way to ascend the rock walls, but I found nothing of interest. I think Chrys thought it was funny that I was searching intensely for something that didn’t seem to affect me. The days were growing longer, though, despite the sun setting sooner. I needed something to occupy my time, and the incessant thoughts regarding those I left behind plagued my nights too often for me not to try and find some form of outlet to escape in.

Now I know what you are probably wondering. What about my training for accessing the Vastmire? Well that’s easy, I didn’t care about that after a while.

Being young often leaves you with this weak, easily snapped will that has no way of surviving hardship. I was cursed with such a will for longer than I care to admit. So maybe after a week of trying to get the Vastmire to come out of me and not reaching it, and not even getting it to aid me in my defense of Chrys, I gave up on trying to find it. Some part of me believed that it wasn’t in me at all, that what had happened on Mango was some sort of fluke. That I should be dead.

There was one question I did ask Chrys that he answered, now that I think about it. One night, when the cold winds blew and I found myself lying closer to Chrys than he cared for, I asked him, “Have you heard of Vastmire?”

I felt a muscle in his body spasm, and the air seemed to wrap me in a thin sheet of ice. His voice crept into my ears with an eerie quietude that sent my spine into jitters.

“My life,” he said, “has been a long one, longer than you could fathom though it is truthfully not so. And in my early years, I travelled all over the Tamarind Sea, searching for adventure to ease my boyhood dreams. There was one such man I met who was gifted with Vastmire, and he was great. Fantastic even. I followed him all over, and soon I became his favorite emissary. His strength was immeasurable, it was as if he were some sovereign deity. I was foolish to think he wouldn’t use it.”

In the silence that followed, I asked, “Where is he now?”

Chrys didn’t say anything, he just stared up towards the top of the mountain, his eyes blazing with cold fury.