#and I noticed morgan reblogged my other set about them several times I decided to make another one for her. I hope you'll like it :)

[thasorns-archive]

MARC PAHUN AS HIN & CHAAIM ALONGKORN AS PAYU IN CHAINS OF HEART (2023), dir. Term Rungradit Rungamonwanit (for @zhaozi​ ❤)

[the-mill-kat]

Unshaken Chapter III

Arthur Morgan x Reader (18+) Slow-Burn

Posted March 16, 2020

A/N: Here it is! I hope you guys like it, even took a special screenshot for this chapter. Please **like and reblog** if you enjoy, and leave a comment! It really means a lot to me and lets me know if you guys are enjoying it and want more.

You save a mysterious man who is dying on a mountain. Finding out he has Tuberculosis, you use your knowledge and skills with herbs and natural remedies to save him from death and help nurse him back to health. As he slowly starts to recover, you can’t help but wonder: Who is this man? Why had you found him the way that you did, beaten and ill? Only time, patience … and perhaps love … will tell.

2 weeks later

It was mid-morning, the day was absolutely beautiful and you decided to take full advantage of it to tend to your herb garden in the small field next to your cabin. You were on your hands and knees pulling weeds and pruning the plants as the sun shined directly onto you.

The plants you grew needed constant care and were a lot of hard work. But they were worth it, you thought, thinking of all the benefits that they brought. Though it was a difficult task to care for so many kinds of plants, you still enjoyed doing it. Especially whenever you got the chance to go out and see if you could discover any new kinds of herbs to bring back and add to your garden. The hobby was time-consuming, but that was a good thing since it could get boring being by yourself when your brother was out.

But you weren’t by yourself, you thought. Arthur was inside the cabin lying on the couch in the sitting room, still recovering from his tuberculosis.

You smiled to yourself as you pulled another weed from the ground. Arthur had been getting progressively better over the last couple of weeks, and you were so grateful that his body seemed to be growing stronger and stronger with each passing day. Why, just a couple days ago he’d managed to sit up on his own and eat some canned pineapples that you’d decided to give to him. It was really good news that he was able to start eating more solid foods again.

His clothes were another matter you’d worried yourself over. You knew you couldn’t leave him in the same attire for so long, so you’d taken the liberty of taking off his old ones so his body could rest more easily. You’d left his undergarments on out of decency, knowing you could wait for Arthur to decide what he wanted to do past that point.

As you’d undressed him you hadn’t been able to help but admire that body of his. His wounds were healing remarkably well and he had no longer needed any bandages at that point, so his skin had been completely bare for your view. All that thick muscle and that weathered, sun-kissed skin …

At that point you’d forced yourself into a strictly professional state, refusing to allow yourself to look over his body in any other way but medical. You’d washed his old clothes, folded them neatly and placed them on the nightstand by his feet so he’d know where they were when he came to.

You straightened up from the ground and wiped some sweat off your brow with the back of your hand. “Dammit,” you cursed under your breath.

You’d been working ever since your brother had gone out early this morning to go hunting, and that had been at last three hours ago now. You weren’t worried, however. Austin usually took a long time on his trips, often wandering around aimlessly until he found an animal to kill. He wasn’t the greatest tracker, but he tried his best.

Several days ago Austin had returned from one of his trips with a mysterious satchel.

“What do you got there?” You’d asked as he’d brought it into the kitchen and placed it on the wooden table in the middle of the room. You’d went over to close the door to the sitting room so as not to wake Arthur.

“I ain’t too sure,” Austin had answered, taking a seat at the table as you sat down across from him. “I found it by O’Creagh’s Run near where we found that man at.” He scratched his neck. “Haven’t bothered lookin’ in it, figured it might be his.”

You’d looked at your brother skeptically, surprised at that last statement. Due to his strong animosity towards Arthur why on Earth would he not be suspicious of what was in the satchel?

Austin had confessed then, having felt pressured by your peeling gaze. “Alright, alright, I looked. But it didn’t look like nothin’ special. Just an old journal of some kind.”

Your curiosity had peaked at those words and you’d reached into the satchel to pull out the journal. It was definitely worn, but from the edges you could tell that most of the pages had been filled in.

Then you’d lifted the front cover and saw the name in beautiful handwriting.

Arthur

You had immediately closed the journal and placed it back in the satchel, your heart beating rapidly, and Austin had looked over at you questioningly. “Well?” He’d prompted.

“It has his name on the first page,” you’d answered with a shaky voice. You wanted so terribly to see the rest of what was in that journal, but your better conscience won the battle in the end and you’d closed the satchel and locked it in the bottom drawer of your desk, figuring you’d give it to Arthur once he got back on his feet.

You came back to the present at that last thought. Arthur was the first human you had ever treated … and his body was actually responding surprisingly well to everything you had given him.

You reached over to crush some dead leaves off of one of the flower bushes.

You’d been monitoring Arthur’s heart and lungs every day and you could tell the huge difference. The heart was beating regularly and powerfully now, and his lungs were taking in much more air than they had been before. His breaths were getting slightly longer every day, letting you know that they were slowly regenerating the lost tissue that the tuberculosis bacteria had eaten away at. There would be scarring left behind that would stay there for the rest of his life, but you hoped his body would still fully recover enough for him to be able to lead a normal life again.

Only time would tell, though.

He’d been in and out of consciousness for the past two weeks from all the treatments, but that was no doubt a side effect from the medicine and herbs he’d been ingesting. He was also getting better at talking whenever he was conscious, no longer having to take a breath between every few words.

Whenever he woke, you’d taken the opportunity to make sure he ate. Just a few days ago Arthur was able to sit up and start feeding himself. After he would finish his small meals, you made sure he consumed several more spoonfuls of honey each time. It was so important that he take the honey so that it would assist in killing the bacteria in his lungs and the rest of his body.

Honey was the main fighter, the main substance more important than any other in getting Arthur to heal, right next to all the other medicine.

You pondered then, thinking back two weeks ago.

He’d called you honey. At least, you thought he had? Maybe his mind had drifted at that moment, and he’d just been thinking of the sweet substance and happened to say it out loud? You couldn’t be sure … it wouldn’t make sense for him to actually call you that endearment since he hardly knew you past your own name.

But you still wondered.

There was a noise behind you, and you jerked your head around in that direction, expecting to see Austin coming back from his hunting trip.

But it wasn’t your brother.

It was Arthur.

He was fully dressed in his old attire … the same clothes you had found him in that night. A blue long-sleeved shirt with dark brown pants, faded black boots and a large black neckerchief. His chestnut-brown hair was tangled, and his beard had grown out quite a bit from the past two weeks.

He was limping out of the cabin and onto the front porch, an arm clutching his chest as if he were trying to keep himself from falling over.

“Arthur!” You got up from the ground and rushed over to him, forgetting all about your garden. Placing yourself in front of him you stopped him in his tracks, reaching out to try to steady him. “You shouldn’t be out here, you shouldn’t even be standing! Much less walking around.”

Arthur’s blue eyes looked down at you, and for the first time you noticed how truly tall he was. You realized then and there that you’d never seen him at his full height before. The man was practically a giant, standing a full head above you, your own head barely reaching above his wide shoulders.

“I’m fine, Y/N,” that deep southern voice drawled. Arthur closed his eyes in a grimace, letting out a slow breath. “Don’t you worry, now. I just need to take a walk.”

He tried to walk around you but you stepped into his path. “No way, mister, I ain’t letting you take another step away from that couch. Now you turn yourself around and go lie down.”

He smiled at you, but there was no humor in it. “Get outta my way, darlin’,” he said with a bit of venom in his voice, not too harsh but enough to have you back up a little. “I know you mean well, but I ain’t stayin’ on that damn couch any longer.”

Your face grew worried, concerned for his well-being. “You can’t possibly leave now,” you said firmly, “you still need more treatment, or you’re going to get sick again!”

He scoffed, a forceful breath shooting out of his mouth in a huff. “It’s alright, girl,” he said gruffly, “I ain’t got nowhere to go from here, so don’t you fret none.” He lifted his other arm slowly as if it weighed a ton, pointing towards the wide stream. “I’m just gonna head on down to that water over there.”

You realized at that moment that there was going to be no persuading him. Once he had his mind set on something, there was no way he was going to be shaken from it.

With great reluctance you stepped to the side, grabbing the tall walking stick that was propped on the wall, the one you used all the time when you went hiking up into the mountains to search for herbs. “At least take this. I don’t want you falling on your face, you hear?”

Arthur stared at it for a long while then nodded, taking the walking stick with his spare hand, leaning onto it as he started making his way off the porch and towards the large stream that was about sixty feet away.

“Would you like me to come with you?” You asked after him.

He just shook his head and kept going.

You watched him, feeling completely helpless as he continued to grunt in pain with each step he took, slowly getting closer to the water’s edge. He still held his chest with his other arm, his body hunching forward slightly but not stopping.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Arthur felt as though his lungs were going to fall out of his chest, but he couldn’t stay inside that cabin anymore. He needed to get out.

He remembered Y/N telling him that they were above Cerberus Falls, where the hell was that? Y/N had told him it was right before Brandywine Drop.

Finally he reached the side of the wide stream. Looking down, he took in his reflection on the water’s surface. He could see his disheveled hair, his beard had grown out quite a bit, and he looked like a complete mess, but he seemed to be in one piece.

Funny, he thought, he didn’t feel like he was in one piece. He felt as though he was going to fall apart at any moment.

Arthur brought a hand up to his forehead and grunted as a sharp pain went through his head. After several seconds, it finally passed.

He looked down the stream, hearing the roaring sound of waterfalls in the distance. He turned and started heading further down the stream, following the sound.

As he made his way over, he began to lose himself in thought.

He was still here.

Was this real?

Arthur couldn’t begin to fathom the fact that he was still alive, the mere thought of it was overwhelming to him. He tried to remember back to that night again. Damn, why was it so hard?

He almost missed his footing but caught himself on the walking stick Y/N had given him. He was grateful she had offered it to him, it definitely helped keep his ass from falling on the ground. Catching his breath, he started walking again.

Eventually he reached the top of the falls and looked out over the landscape below.

The waterfall was loud as it fell over the edge and landed onto the surface several feet below. Cerberus Falls, Y/N had called it. He almost laughed to himself, was the waterfall named that for the three separate falls it split into? He supposed it made sense, but he’d never heard of the name before.

Arthur looked out further, and noticed the familiar sight. Brandywine Drop. Further still he could see Roanoke Valley after that.

So he was truly in Roanoke Ridge, or just outside of it.

After a moment of taking everything in, he sat down right at the edge of the rocks, letting out a long exhale as he relaxed his entire body and just looked out at the land below.

Maybe this was Heaven?

He almost laughed to himself. No way, he wasn’t a good enough man to make it up there, and even if he was he shouldn’t be feeling any pain, right?

Arthur reached up and rubbed at his chest, trying to ease the aching soreness he felt there.

The air felt cool as it rushed up from below to meet him, the wind blowing his hair back slightly. He took a long, deep breath, then exhaled it out slowly.

He hadn’t been able to do that in so long. It felt so damn good. He took in the sun’s rays, feeling the warmth on his skin. The sound of the rushing water flooded his ears, and he closed his eyes, losing himself in his thoughts.

He thought of the deer again. It had been appearing in his dreams every night since Y/N had saved him. But he couldn’t fathom why, having no idea what it meant.

A haze slowly began to form in his mind, and a dark figure materialized in front of him, taking the solid form of a man. Black hair, a scarred face … Arthur saw his own hands reaching out to the figure in an embrace, placing something on the figure’s head —

John.

Arthur’s eyes shot open, his whole body lurching. He steadied himself on the walking stick as he panted, his entire body hunching forward, suddenly feeling heavy with some kind of invisible weight bearing down on him.

What the hell? Had he been holding his breath? He swallowed hard, closing his eyes as he tried to recall the image again.

The figure reappeared.

John … John Marston.

His brother …

Arthur lifted his head, looking over the vast land into the distance beyond, narrowing his eyes as if he was trying to see where John was. John … his family … where were they? Were they safe? The questions began racing in circles around his mind … then he remembered.

He’d sent John away … right before —

Another sharp pain shot through his head, and Arthur grimaced, bringing his hand up to rub at his temple. He flinched, feeling one of the healing cuts on his face with the tips of his fingers.

Letting out a groan he dropped his hand and gripped the walking stick with both hands, feeling completely lost … in a world that thought he was dead …

A tear rolled down his cheek.

••••••••••••••••••••••••

You’d watched Arthur walk down towards the stream, wanting to make sure that he didn’t get hurt in any way. As soon as he’d reached it, you’d watched as he just seemed to stare down at the water.

Was he looking at his reflection? He lifted his head and looked in the direction of the waterfall.

What was he thinking about?

He started walking down the stream.

Wait, what was he thinking? He couldn’t possibly try to make it any further with the state he was in. You almost felt the need to stop him, but … you were afraid that if you tried he would only fight back, no doubt placing more stress on his body than it was already going through.

You decided to follow him, if only to make sure he was safe.

You were careful to stay in the shadows of the trees as you both gradually made your way over to the waterfall.

Finally, Arthur stopped right at the edge, leaning on the tall walking stick and looking out at the land below. Oh, God, was he going to —

Arthur just sat down slowly, his legs hanging over the edge of the cliff. He kept a grip on the walking stick as he continued to keep his other arm wrapped around his chest.

You approached closer and hid behind another tree, telling yourself you were just keeping an eye on him. Truthfully, though, you were worried for him.

Arthur seemed lost, deep in his own thoughts. He looked as if he were in a great deal of mental pain, and you almost felt the urge to give in and go over to try and comfort him. But you decided it was best to just stay back and give him some space.

After some time passed, Arthur’s upper body suddenly lurched over, nearly falling off the cliff. You lunged forward but stopped yourself as he caught his balance using the walking stick. You squinted to get a closer look … was he crying?

He looked over his shoulder, “What’re you doin’ over there, Y/N?” You were shocked to hear Arthur ask as he looked in your direction, right where you were hiding.

How on Earth did he know you were there? How could he have possibly heard you over the waterfall?

Taking a deep breath, knowing there was no getting out of this, you stepped out from behind the tree and approached him. “I was worried about you, Arthur,” you confessed as you sat down beside him, letting your legs hang off the edge of the cliff as well. “When you started walking toward the falls I wasn’t sure what you were going to do.”

You felt embarrassed, and he let out a rough chuckle. “Did you think I was gonna jump off the cliff, darlin’?”

You felt your cheeks flush, afraid to admit the truth. “Well, I didn’t want anything bad to happen to you. I’m sorry I followed you out here.”

He stared at you then smiled. “You’re alright,” He said, his voice deep. “I don’t blame you.”

You looked over at him. He looked straight ahead, but you noticed the wet trail that ran from his eye and over his cheek. You were almost tempted to reach out and wipe it away, but why?

He let out another grunt of pain, flinching and rubbing his forehead with the tips of his fingers. “What is wrong with me, Y/N?” He asked hoarsely, “Why can I barely remember anythin’?”

You worked up the courage to reach out and rub his back in an effort to try and comfort him. Oh, Lord, you thought. His back was extremely broad and the skin under his blue shirt felt warm, the muscles underneath your hand tensing up.

You shook yourself mentally. This was no time to be thinking that way.

“The medicine and herbs I’ve been treating you with have properties that may cause some side effects to certain parts of the body. They can numb the brain a little bit, effecting your memory. I’ve seen animals act a bit funny on the doses. But don’t worry,” you gave him a smile, “Your memory will start to clear up once we start spacing out your treatments. For now your body needs as much help as it can get so it can fight off the bacteria that’s left.”

“How long will that take?” Arthur asked, but he didn’t look at you. He just kept staring out at the landscape.

“A couple of months is usually the time it’s taken for an animal I’ve treated, but I’m not sure how long it would be for a human. I’m hoping for your sake that it won’t take any longer than it needs to. I’m sure you have family or friends to go back to?”

His body froze under your touch. Had you said something wrong?

“I ain’t sure of that anymore,” he said softly, his voice sounding pained.

Immediately you regretted bringing it up as you noticed another tear roll down his cheek. “Arthur?” You stared at him worriedly.

He just kept looking ahead, a small stiff smile on his face even though his eyes showed immense grief. But of what, you wondered. You turned your head in the direction he was looking, taking in the sights as well.

It felt as if hours had gone by before he spoke to you again. “I was supposed to die … wasn’t I?”

His sudden words had you looking back at him. He was staring at you again, those blue eyes of his red around the corners, as if he was trying to hold his emotions in.

“What you did, what you’re doin’,” Arthur grunted and laid a hand on his chest, “it shouldn’t be possible, should it?”

You didn’t know how to respond as those eyes seemed to stare a hole right through you.

He continued on, “The doctor I saw. He told me it couldn’t be cured.” He rubbed his chest, “I feel like I’ve cheated death … because of you.”

You looked down at your lap, unable to look at him because you weren’t sure of what to say. “I … well … there’s still a lot of work to be done, but — ”

“Why’d you save me?”

His sudden question surprised you, and you looked back up at him. “What?”

His blue eyes narrowed at you. “Why did you save me, Y/N?”

You opened your mouth to respond, but then you realized you had no idea how to reply, not sure if you knew the answer yourself. You thought about it for a moment, trying to form the words in your head. All the while you felt his piercing blue gaze, which wasn’t helping at all.

“I …” you swallowed hard, “You were dying. I couldn’t just leave you there.” There, that should be enough, right? After all, it was the truth, wasn’t it? Maybe?

Arthur was quiet for a moment, then asked under his breath, “Why do you hide it?”

You gave him a confused look, “What do you mean?”

He narrowed his eyes at you intently. “Why do you hide your skills? All this knowledge you have on plants and such.”

You smiled, letting out a small laugh at his wording. “I wouldn’t necessarily call them skills,” you said modestly. “More like a hobby. I’ve never went as far as to treat a human, like I said before. I’ve only ever treated forest or farm animals in my entire life. I haven’t really done anything else.” You looked down at your hands as you fiddled with your fingers nervously. “Honestly I’m surprised that your body has responded so well. And I’m grateful.” You blushed, surprised at those last words that had just slipped out of your mouth.

Arthur chuckled softly. “You’re grateful, huh? “ he asked with humor laced in his voice. A long pause, then he said, “Any other stranger would’ve left me up there, you know.”

You almost gasped at that. “Why on Earth would you think that?”

He just gave a small smile, looking back over the valley. “I ain’t a good man, honey. If you knew who I really was, you’d have never tried to save me.”

You tensed, hearing that word come off his lips again. Honey … You couldn’t say anything in response as you took in his expression, his stiff shoulders, the way he just looked out at the land, almost as if he were staring off into nothingness.

“Arthur … ?”

He didn’t reply.

You reached out again and tapped his shoulder. “Arthur, are you alright?”

His body jerked at your touch as if you’d electrocuted him, and you almost jumped at his unexpected reaction. He turned his gaze toward you and he relaxed, seeming to recognize you. Had he forgotten where he was for a brief moment? Maybe it was the medicine.

“C’mon, Arthur, I need you to come back to the cabin,” you stood and held out your hand in an offering to help him up to his feet, “Your body needs to lie down and rest.”

He looked up at you with disgust at the thought of going back to that couch. But finally he seemed to listen, probably realizing it was for the best. “I guess you’re right.” He grunted in a low voice as he grasped your hand in his big one.

It turned out you needed both your hands and all of your weight to pull him up, but you managed with his help. You offered to let him lean on you but he just shook his head, gesturing at the walking stick. “I’m fine, honey. You got me this, remember?”

He didn’t want to burden you with his weight, you noticed. Smiling, you nodded and turned toward the cabin, walking back slowly by Arthur’s side.

As you made your way over, you couldn’t help but finally ask it.

“Arthur?”

“Yeah?” Oh, God, that heavy southern voice of his sent shivers down your spine.

You took a deep breath, bracing yourself. “Why do you keep calling me ‘honey?’”

— To Be Continued

[castlebay-crossing]

The Villager in Tent Three: Chapter Three

Summary: When Aisling leaves her hometown for the island of Castlebay, as part of Tom Nook’s Deserted Island getaway package, all she expects is sun, sand and plenty of solitude. But when she gets there, not everything is as the brochure said. Secretive villagers, judgemental neighbours, and an antagonistic photographer turn out to be the least of her worries, however, when the mysterious villager in tent three turns up dead one night after a vicious storm that left the only plane off the island grounded. Someone on the island is a murderer. And it’s up to Aisling to work out who it is. Before they come after her, too.

Warning: Major character death, some description of violence

Other Links: Readable on AO3 and FFN.

A/N: Hoo boy, this one was a labour of love! Bit of a long chapter and a fair amount of stuff happens in it! Next chapter will likely be another long one with a lot of stuff also happening, then we’ll be dialling back to island life for a little while! So I hope you will continue to accompany me on this journey! Thank you to everyone who’s read, liked and reblogged so far! I really do appreciate every interaction! 

.-.-.

March 2nd, 2020 – Morning 

The medicine Muffy bought me worked like a charm. It came in two parts – a soft, sweet-smelling cream and a packet of small pink tablets. “Will cure most (non-fatal) illnesses and injuries!” the label boasted. I hoped I’d never have to test it on anything worse than the occasional sickness bug or ache and pain. Muffy helped me spread the cream along the injury and immediately, I felt the sting fade.

“Good as new, nightshade!” she trilled. “Do you feel better now?”

It really was quite remarkable how quickly it worked. Even the swelling looked like it was going down. “Much better, thank you.” I said. “Are you sure I can’t give you anything for the medicine, Muffy? Can I pay you back in some way? I feel bad you had to pay for it yourself.”

Muffy waved her paws at me. “I don’t need any Bells, nightshade! But, I suppose…” she tilted her head, considering. “One thing I do need is a punnet of fresh cherries. I ran out this morning when I used the last on my toast.”

I tried not to think too much about the concept of cherries on toast.

“You’ve seen the cherry trees, right?” she continued. “Even though fruit grows super-quick here, most of the trees near my tent have been picked clean. And the ones growing here aren’t quite ripe enough. But Bill told me there’s a huge patch of them right at the top of the island. I was going to go up but I’m too small to reach the best ones.”

“So you want me to get you… cherries?”

“Absolutely, nightshade!  If it’s not too much trouble, of course.”

It did sound like trouble. Entirely too much trouble. But I couldn’t bring myself to say no to her. She was the first person who had shown me kindness, purely out of the goodness of her heart, in such a long time. Sure, Tom Nook had been kind, especially with the tent and the Nookphone, but it had come out of a package deal that had been bought and paid for. Muffy had done it simply because she wanted to help.

I made myself smile. “Yeah, I can go up and get some for you.”

“Thank you!” Muffy beamed. “I’ll be in my tent the rest of the day so you can drop by any time. And oh, nightshade? You should pick up a few extra while you’re down there. You can bring any items you find to Tom Nook and sell them for Bells. It’s the easiest way to make money.”

Muffy’s advice sound vaguely familiar. It rang a bell, as it were. I snickered to myself, and then cringed at the fact that I’d even entertained such a terrible pun. “Yeah, I think Tom Nook may have mentioned it before,” I said casually, trying to shake off the internal embarrassment.

Muffy nodded. “Well, I better get off home. Thanks again, you’re a solid cat! I’ll be waiting, nightshade!”

She waved me goodbye with one of her chubby paws and toddled away, leaving me sitting alone outside Nook’s Cranny. A wind picked up, lifting the hair from my forehead and leaving the leaves giggling in the trees. Everything else remained still and quiet.

I pulled the Nookphone out and booted up the Island Map. For the first time since arriving on Castlebay, I finally had a chance to look properly at the island’s layout. The whole island was cut into four “parts”, I suppose was the best way to describe it, separated by criss-crosses of river. And as Muffy had rightly said, although the island was fairly covered by trees, they seemed densest at the northern part of the island. But what was the easiest way to get up there?

I set to plotting a route. For all the different sections of the river, only two were passable by bridge. The eastern part of the island – where my tent was – was linked to the central area with Nook’s Cranny, Residential Services and Muffy’s tent. The northern most section – containing Bill and Morgan’s tents – was also connected to my section with a bridge.  I allowed a sigh of relief. It looked like I wouldn’t have to swim up the river or anything ridiculous like that.

It would be a long walk, though. One that would be better started sooner rather than later. I decided that I would call in at my tend and pick up my rucksack, as I didn’t fancy carrying piles and piles of delicate cherries by hand. I tucked the Nookphone back into my pocket, along with the remaining medicine, and set off.

.-.-.

It was lovely to explore the island a bit more. There was sort of a sacredness to the place, this rolling stretch of (mostly) untouched land under a strip of blue sky. The air smelled clean, heady with the scent of woods after rain. Trees lifted their branches up, like churchgoers at worship, gently shaken, but unyielding in the breeze. There was no path once I crossed the bridge into the top section of the island, so I had to wind my way though skinny tree trunks and uneven ground. Sometimes the trees grew so thickly clumped together that I had trouble squeezing past, and other times the terrain opened out into such sparse clearings that I felt exposed and vulnerable, like I was the only other person in the world.

There was a tent pitched about five minutes away from the bridge – a joyful orange in colour with a makeshift post-box stuck haphazardly into the ground. “Bill” was splodged on in blue paint. I took a few minutes to look around the campsite. Aside from a few loose boxes and what looked like the bones of a campfire, there was no sign of life – or Bill himself – anywhere. Muffy had said he liked running. Perhaps he was still off galivanting somewhere.

The cherry trees Muffy promised lay in a small grove twenty minutes away from Bill’s tent. Ahead of the grove, the grass unfurled into a small beach, hidden almost completely from sight by an outcrop of steel-grey rocks. The beach couldn’t have been any more than a few metres in width and length, with a single solitary beach chair set up near the water’s edge. It looked very peaceful. I had to remind myself I wasn’t here to sunbathe. I was here for cherries.

The cherry trees themselves had thin trunks and spindly branches – easy to distinguish from the thick firs and oaks – and the cherries dangled precariously, looking as if they’d drop at any moment under their own weight. The lowest branches hung just above my eye level, so it was easy enough to reach up and pluck the cherries from their stalks. Admittedly, someone Muffy’s height would probably have struggled. A twist of hunger gurgled in my stomach as I breathed in their soft scent. When was the last time I had eaten? I’d had breakfast before getting on the plane at Doveport Airport but between sleeping all day and the sting from the scorpion, I’d not had time to eat anything since. Remembering this, it was like a cavern of emptiness opened in my stomach. The flesh of the cherries was plump, a rich wine-red in colour and I couldn’t resist biting into one. Then another. And then another and another until red stood out around my mouth, my tongue tingled with the mix of sweet and sour, and my belly felt pleasantly full.

Strength returned, I shrugged off my bag, hoping the cherries wouldn’t get damaged when I packed them inside. Hopping from tree to tree, I shook branches and watched the red fruits topple into the grass, gleaming like precious jewels, and then scooped them into my bag. Once I was satisfied, I hoisted the bag back onto my shoulders and walked a few experimental paces. It was certainly heavy, but not enough that it would hinder me on the long walk back. Well, so long as I kept it slow.

With all the tree hopping I’d done I’d wandered away from my original stopping point. I unhooked the Nookphone to get my bearings again. Surprisingly, I found I’d gone far enough that I was closer to Morgan’s tent than anything else. If I squinted and looked across the dipping hills, I could see what looked like the top of a tent among the fronds of leaves.

I could bring Morgan some cherries, I reasoned. He’d come to this place with nothing and nobody, just the same as me. And if we were going to be neighbours, it would make sense to have each other’s backs.

The ground on the way up to Morgan’s tent was messy, littered with branches and weeds, leaving me picking my way across. Several heavy stones stood out like scars, great chunks of them cut away, exposing the ancient layers underneath. I could see Morgan’s tent clearly now, growing out of the hills, a distinctive red that seemed unnatural, bloodlike, against the green of nature.

I was so busy staring at Morgan’s tent that I didn’t notice the hole. My foot slipped on the uneven ground, plunging into a neat little gap. I stumbled and grabbed the nearest tree to steady myself, cursing. The whole tree shook under the impact. Then something dropped heavily to the ground, accompanied by a fury of buzzing.

When I turned my head to look, I came face-to-face with a loose beehive and many small angry bees.

I didn’t wait. Fear gripped my heart; I threw myself to my feet and I ran. Within seconds, the bees followed in one dark cloud, the tempest of buzzing filling my ears. I’d never seen bees behave like this before. Pushing myself through tight clusters of trees, I darted and wove, trying to throw them off, confuse them, but nothing worked. I needed to find cover, quickly.

Morgan’s tent! I’d forgotten about it in the flurry of panic. It wasn’t much, but it was somewhere safe. I pushed harder. The tent flap opened, and Morgan stepped out, his hair tousled, grimacing in the light of the sun.  

“Morgan!” I cried. Let me in!”

He turned towards me, his mouth hanging open. I heard some sort of garbled shout, words crashing into each other, and then I was grabbing him by the arm and pulling him inside the tent with me. We crashed through the open flap and onto the ground, but I immediately pivoted on my knees and scrambled for the tent zipper, the droning noise of the bees still ringing in my ears. With trembling hands, I sealed us inside and sat back, my breath coming in ragged gasps.

Morgan tugged on the back of my bag. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

The presence on the bag was a sharp, and unwelcome, reminder. “My cherries!” I gasped, a brief vision of the fruit turning to nothing but juice pushing its way to the front of my mind.

“Your… cherries?”

“Yes, my cherries!” I opened the bag impatiently. Inside, the cherries stared back, some of them a bit bashed, but mostly intact.

“Why do you have so many—”

“One of the villagers asked me to bring her some cherries in exchange for some medicine she bought me because I got stung by a scorpion on the beach in the middle of the night!”

Morgan blinked. “Are you aware just how ridiculous you sound?”

I sighed and unfolded my legs. “Of course I do. And to top it all off, I disturbed a massive beehive…”

“Did you get stung?”

“I don’t think so. I didn’t feel anything.” I checked my arms and legs all the same, but only the sting from the scorpion stood out. “Um… listen, I’m really sorry for barging in.”

Morgan went quiet. He looked around the tent a few times, his sharp eyes darting back and forth. The bees buzzed angrily outside, their tiny shadows flickering on the tent canvas like specks of paint. “It’s fine,” he said eventually. “You can wait until they’ve gone.”

“Thanks,”

Morgan’s tent was pretty much the same as mine – a camp bed, in camouflage green instead of my canary yellow, a radio and a lamp. But most of his floor space was taken up by his camera equipment and, strangely enough, a rack of tools, including a net and a fishing pole.

He caught me staring. “I like to be prepared.” He said, his chest puffed up. “Lots of good photo opportunities if I can catch my own fish and bugs.”

I nodded, struggling for something to say. Inside his tent felt strangely claustrophobic, with so much heavy equipment and so little floor space to share. He was uncomfortably close, and I could feel the heat from his breath. I looked down and ran my fingers over the ground, feeling the blades of grass underneath. The bees still flitted outside.

“Have you met the neighbours?” I eventually asked.

“Just one.”

“Which one?”

“Bill. He came by the tent at six in the morning to say hello.”

“Ouch,” I winced. “I’ve not met him yet. I think he must have been out when I passed by earlier.” Everything I said sounded limp. The sooner the bees went away, the better. Still searching for something to say to fill the silence, I thought of the villager in tent three, the one removed from the map. “Have you met the other neighbour?”

“Muffy? No. She’s not been by yet.”

“No, I mean the other one.”

“What other one?”

“The one in tent three. Have you not heard of him yet? Muffy said his name was Ross, but his location won’t come up on the map, so I don’t know where he lives or if he actually wants to meet anyone…”

Morgan returned a blank look. “I thought we were the only two humans here,” he said with the smallest twitch of his shoulders. Then, with a pointed stare, “Oh well. It’s not like I’m here to make friends anyway.”

I lowered my head, trying to conceal the redness of my cheeks. Neither of us spoke, the silence between us expanding further. Then I realised I couldn’t hear the bees anymore.

“I think it’s safe now.” I said, pushing myself to my feet. “I’ll… get out of your hair.”

To my surprise, he followed me back outside. I looked around, suddenly realising how completely unfamiliar I was with this area. Nothing but trees and the occasional rock. I couldn’t even pinpoint which way I’d come in the first place. I consulted the map on the Nookphone.

Morgan came to stand over my shoulder. I tried very hard not to mind. “If you’re looking to get back to Muffy’s, you could probably get there quicker by going straight over the river.”

I stared at the map. Morgan indicated the river that curved from just beyond his house inward to the centre of the island. A frown tugged at the corners of my mouth. Sure, it looked quicker as the crow flew, but it wasn’t like I could grow a pair of wings and ride a good gust of wind across. I was stuck with stubby legs and no bridges this side of the island.

“There’s no bridges.” I said lamely.

“You don’t need bridges. You can vault over it.”

A vivid image of myself trying to vault the river and ending up soaked head-to-toe played inside my head like a rerunning silent movie. “Morgan, I’m not exactly a gymnast. And the river looks wide. And deep…”

Morgan made a low noise. “Wait there,” he said, disappearing around the side of his tent. A few moments later he returned with a long pole, easily as thick as the widest part of his arm. “You can use this. It’s a pole vault. Nook sold it to me after I went to his crafting course yesterday.”

The pole was at least a head taller than me, and surprisingly supple, but I didn’t trust it as far as I could throw it. Which likely wouldn’t be far. “How does it work…?”

“It’s simple,” he said, although I doubted it. “I’ll show you.”

Using the pole to anchor himself, he cleared the river in one jump after a short run-up. As he landed safely on his feet, I couldn’t hide the fact I was impressed. He vaulted back, a slight smirk curling on the length of his lips.

“Here,” he pushed the pole into my hands. It was heavy, and I struggled to get the balance of it. “If you hop over this river and keep going straight, you’ll end up hitting Residential Services eventually. It’ll be a lot quicker than going all the way back around. Of course, if you can’t manage the vault, you don’t have to. You can do the walk.”

I didn’t dare want to admit that I’d rather walk. I didn’t want to give him the satisfaction. I’d never been massively physically fit and the idea of throwing myself over a section of deep water with only a wooden pole keeping me from falling in didn’t sit right with me. I forced a smile in its stead.

“Thank you. I can… bring it back later tonight, if you like?”

“Nah. Keep it. I can make another. You look like you need it more.”

I sucked in a breath, undecided if he was insulting me outright or inadvertently. Either way, I felt the smile on my face drop off. “Thanks,” I said stiffly.

“I didn’t mean to insult you.” He didn’t apologise, nor did he even sound sorry. “I just couldn’t help but notice that you didn’t exactly come here… prepared.”

I bit my lip and hoped he would let the subject go. It was hard to come prepared to a place like this from the situation I’d come from.

“You should get down to one of Nook’s classes.” Morgan continued. “He’s got all sorts going on, he’ll teach you everything you need. And if you don’t already have a net or a fishing rod, I’d suggest getting a hold of them. You really won’t last long without either of them.”

“Thanks for the warning.” I said coolly. “And the pole.” Out of a sense of obligation, I shrugged off my bag and opened it. “Would you like some cherries? I picked too many.”

“You’re fine, thanks. I don’t like them.”

“Alright then. I’ll see you around.”

“See you.”

Leaving Morgan, I walked further down the river. He had turned around and was facing his tent now, but I kept walking. There was absolutely no way I was going to let him see my attempts at vaulting across the river. Especially if I didn’t make it.

Finally, I found a part of the river that looked narrower. I dunked the pole into the water, pushing it down until it hit something solid. I wiggled it to test. Well, it would be as safe as anything else I’d done on this island so far.

I threw my head over both shoulders – just to make absolute sure that nobody was watching me – but something caught my eye in the distance. There was a tent sitting on the summit of a broad, steep hill. Nestled between thick clumps of trees, the tent was almost impossible to notice unless you looked up at the exact right angle. The flat top of the hill was rocky, falling away sharply on one side to cliffs hanging over the beach, and the hill upwards was covered in thick coarse grass and what looked like spiky brambles. It looked like whoever lived up there wanted to make it as difficult as possible for anyone else to reach them.

I pushed the thought away and got ready to make the leap. Trying to remember how Morgan had done it, it took me three “practice” run-ups to even gather up enough courage. On the fourth attempt, I plunged the pole into the middle of the river, pushed myself forward and sailed right over the water.

Landing on the other side, I fought the urge to jump around and cheer, thrilled with my own accomplishment. Even my bag of cherries had made it safely across. But as I turned around and looked back at the tent at the top of the hill, I saw a figure standing between the cluster of trees. The figure waited, unmoving, for what felt like hours. I thought maybe of waving, shouting a greeting, but the words died in my throat.

Eventually, the figure turned away and returned to the tent, leaving me with my heart beating erratically against my ribcage. This was becoming too much. The figure outside my tent, the one in the trees, now the one outside the third mystery tent. This settled it. I had to put all this straight. I couldn’t start a new life with these worries hanging over me like the clouds from an oncoming storm.

I needed to finally meet Ross. Tonight.