A Helping Hand

Florin Ardelean looked down at the person in his arms with a faint smile on his mouth. The scent of the ocean coated her like perfume, covering up what he assumed would be a wonderful, natural aroma. Her presence here posed an issue, something he hoped to not have to face. He remained secluded on this island, not out of exile, out of choice. The female is the only person he has seen in something akin to a lifetime. The fact she is trusting is a detriment to her. He did not plan on acting untoward to her, but a female on his island? It was unexpected, and plans could change.

Soft, warm curves in his arms appealed to him as a male. Honestly, any female could at this point. She wore a swathe of black fabric, stretching down to cover her body, though torn open at the chest revealing pale cleavage to him. The still dripping blonde hair curled up around her neck a little but seemed to hang to his knee, swaying as he took his steps forward. When he first saw her, he truly assumed her to be a mermaid or a trick of his imagination. He watched as she tried to crawl her way up the shore before approaching her to offer his help.

Her lips parted, but no sound came out. Florin wondered just who she is and how she ended up on his island. His home came into view, a modest cabin built in the middle of a valley. This island is not on any map. To travel here, one must travel through treacherous waters; know what direction to proceed in. Maybe his 'brother', far across the sea, sent him a gift, one he sent along hoping he would return to the land of the living, however living that may be. Could he really help her? Especially if she were a mute?

He shook his head, unwilling to consider the outcome negatively. For missing memories, he wished he could have that fate instead of her. Not to remove the ailment from her, but to remove the memories from his past. Once he arrived at the door to his abode, he looked over his shoulder at the calm waters of the ocean beyond the beach he called home. He shook his head before walking through the door and lying her on the bed, taking care to cover her with the blanket. Though he worried his bed becoming wet, it served a worthy purpose. One glance at the carvings on his bookshelf reminded him of his past failures at saving someone, but he shook the thought away.

***

Warmth coated her aching body from the shoulder down. The sound of a crackling reached her ears, causing her head to move toward an orange fire burning in a fireplace. A peculiar aroma reached her nose, though the scent itself was not terrible. Food, she thought, realizing immediately that the aroma belonged to something her body lacked. In response to that, her stomach growled, showing her hunger for the food she could smell, and that made her wonder just how long she spent on that beach. The man from before appeared, holding a plate, and she really observed him. He looks as powerful as his body felt against hers; she thought.

Though she did not notice it before, the stranger did not wear a shirt, and his skin bore a tan, making it clear he spent a lot of time in the sun. Wrapped around his waist was a thick cloth, perhaps the skin of an animal, revealing long, powerful legs. She averted her eyes and shifted a little, the warm blanket falling to reveal that he left her clothed. The bed beneath her felt damp, but besides that, part of her felt grateful that he did not take off her clothes. She looked down at her body to find a rip in her dress, from her collarbone down to her belly button, but the fabric still held closed by the collar.

"Oh, you're awake," he said, walking over to her. "I made some food for you. Sorry if it doesn't taste good."

She nodded, before accepting the plate from him to dig in without even examining the food. Contrary to what he said, the food he prepared tasted divine to her hungry stomach. He passed over a cup. She drank the contents, then looked at him with a smile. She tried to speak, to give her thanks, but nothing came out, not even a rasp. If only she could speak. The man laughed; passing over a piece of paper and a pencil. With another grateful smile, she wrote out the words 'thank you' and passed it over to him. He nodded before pointing towards her clothes. They were drier than before but still soaked into his bed, making her feel bad.

"I'm afraid I don't have any clothes for a woman here," He started with a faint smile. "But I can get you something soon. Oh, and I forgot to mention. My name is Florin. We should pick a name for you as well. Calling you Woman or Mermaid just doesn't sit right with me."

She could only nod in response before her shoulders sagged further. Florin reached out to pat her shoulder in a show of comfort before he turned away. Who knew what her proper name was? All she knew about herself is that she woke on the beach. Silence filled the room, so she took the time to observe Florin's home. From her position on the bed, she could see three doors, one of which surely led outside. The other two were a mystery. Her blue orbs focused on the center of the room. A tray of plants rested on a table; multiple chairs on either side.

Opposite the bed, there were two armchairs and a smaller table between them. Her mind supplied the names for these items she saw around the room, however, nothing in her memory triggered. Next to the chairs, a bookshelf littered with books towered over them, but one thing stood out. Several small carvings of different people sat on the eye-level shelf of the bookshelf. She wanted to look closer, so she lifted the blankets and went to stand. When Florin heard her shifting, he turned to watch her. The moment she tried to stand, pain shot through her leg, causing her to sink to the floor, clutching her calf.

"Oh, does it hurt?" His voice came closer, and he lifted her back onto the bed. "Can you show me where?"

Tears welled up in her eyes, but she nodded and lifted her leg, pointing at the calf that stopped her progress. There, in the middle of it, ran what appeared to be a pretty deep wound, but the bleeding already stopped. That confused her; however, Florin did not appear surprised in the slightest as he stood to leave the room. As she watched him walk away, she wondered why he lived on the island. A throb ran through her temples, so she lifted her hand to massage at it when he returned and kneeled in front of her, eyes focused on the wound.

"Looks like it already stopped bleeding," Florin said, lifting the hem of her dress skirt. "But just in case, I grabbed some cloth to cover it with. Is there any other place that hurts?"

As his face came closer to the wound, she noticed his eyes dilated and, for a moment, something like hunger flashed in them, making her shift. It looked familiar, she thought, watching as his eyes traveled up her leg to meet her eyes. The way he gazed at her, in that moment, made her feel nervous, her gaze dropping to the warm hand that held up her leg under her knee. She wished for answers, such as why he lived here, and if he knew how she ended up here, however, she shook her head. Her questions would never reach a scrap of paper because part of her did not trust him, no matter how kind he acted.

She winced a little when she felt him applying a salve to the wound. Though she could tell Florin was doing his best to be gentle, the medicine he used stung, causing more tears to well in her eyes. She understood nothing about her situation and felt so alone. Once he finished applying the medicine, he wrapped some cloth around the wound. His eyes met hers before he stood and walked over to the bookshelf. Curious, she watched as he picked up one carving and brought it over to her. Maybe he saw her looking at them and wanted to help sate her curiosity? She looked at the carving in her hand with wonder.

"Before I moved here, I had some friends," He started as she focused on the fine lines of what appeared to be a female's face. "But they died, so I came here to escape. After a while, I never went back."

That only made her more curious. Her blue orbs wandered up to the other carvings. Did he carve these himself? She tilted her head, eyes narrowed on the figures as they stood proudly on the shelf. Florin said nothing else, only watched her expression as she considered the tiny figures. She could feel his eyes watching her, but without the ability to speak, she could not express what she thought. Her fingers reached across the bed to where she placed the paper and pencil before scrawling out a note. Even now, her handwriting still looked similar to a toddler.

'She's exquisite and detailed. Did you carve these yourself?'

"You would agree on the other carvings. I carved them when I first arrived here before I even built this cabin." Florin's eyes fell to the floor as he sank onto the bed next to her. "I worried I would forget their faces if I didn't."

'I can't imagine how long that took you to accomplish. I'm sorry you lost your friends.'

Florin did not continue the conversation. She turned to look up at him, but his eyes remained closed. For a moment she assumed he slept. Instead, he shook his head, his eyes opening to look at her. Pain. She saw pain hiding in the depths of his darkened eyes. Pure agony that caused her heart to clench. Without thinking about what she was doing, she reached out to cup his cheek. His eyes widened in shock as her thumbs brushed along his lower eyelid, wiping away tears that did not exist. For a moment, her touch lingered on the scar under his right eye. How much did the death of those friends scar him? She wondered; eyes focused on his. She bit her lip before pulling away, eyes falling back to the figure.

"You do not trust me but feel pity for my pain…" Florin said, reaching out to catch a lock of blonde hair. "It happened long ago; however, it has something to do with the scar under my eye. Perhaps I'll be able to tell the story to you one day."

Curious. Did he want to talk to her? To tell her about his past? Why? What purpose did that serve? Though she became affected by his pain and responded to it. What she did not know was why his pain bothered her. She bit her lip again, wondering what he thought. Awkward and tense silence reigned in the small cabin, and she gazed at the figure in her hands. The female in the carving wore a sword on her back and knee-length pants with a tunic-like shirt. Her eyes even looked fiercely at the viewer, making her appear angry.

Her eyes traveled up to the others on the shelf. The female she held is the only one in the group. The other seven were men. Did Florin also create a carving of himself? From where she sat, she could not tell. She could not examine the details from her seat, however, she felt curious. When she turned to write the desires for him to read, she glanced at Florin out of the corner of her eye. The man that became her companion sat quietly, gazing at the distance as though he tried to chase down the memories of his past. Now is not the time to ask.