🦋 From Bed Island 🛏️

The queen of bed island slept in a boat, on top of the mountain.

Some seasons, she would drape it into a tent, not coming out for days at a time.

Some seasons, she would barely sleep in the boat at all, preferring to make a nest for herself near the shoreline.

Pulling on the soft fabric earth, she would drag it out, bit by bit, until it balled into a soft heap. And there, she would climb onto the structure, after a days worth of work, and lie still while the moonlight shone over her like a spotlight.

Often, she went into the water to catch fish and crabs. If the weather was right, and she was feeling fearless, she would dive down into the water and go swimming for scallops. She made her own salt, digging out cavities on the fabric shore.

She would beat her catch with a trusty piece of driftwood, and dry it in the sun to eat. On days she preferred shade, she would simply pick the kelp and sea weeds, carrying as much as she could back up to her boat palace.

There was not a lot to eat on bed island, not a tree in sight. The sea provided, wave after wave after wave of salty breeze and brine.

Her prized possesion was a stick with holes at either end, and more on the side. A kind of flute, whittled with sharp rocks. Never far from her person, tucked into something, or slung over a limb.

You'd think it was a plaything. A toy. Like every other little oddity in this place. So when the call came, it was something of a surprise. A long note, sustained. Over and over again.

She ran down the mountain in a spiral, looking. This angle? That distance? Listen. Listen!

When she saw them, it was a straight line, and small bursts of whistles. For joy? For relief? For recognition?

The water in me, recognizes the water in you.

🌊 Wave after wave after wave 🌊 🌊

In she dived. A practiced run, jump and into the depths. Past the crowds, the bodies. Smaller, larger, textured, slimy, scaled, smooth, clawed. Down and down and down.

Breaking out of the surface, she dragged them to shore. A long thing, of whalebone. A small thing, of shell.

Grasping for air, coughing, she dragged herself out too. One step, two step. One step, two step.

Catching her breath, she smiled wide into the sun. Orange and red blinded her vision.

Eyes closed, she blew into the whale tuba. And the crowd answered her back. An unlikely orchestra.

Keeping her breath steady, she reminded herself to always remember this moment. It might never come again.

When she blew into the conch, the visitors said their goodbyes, drifting back into the blue.

Curling into herself, she slept. For what good is bed island, if not for the moments of peace?

When she woke next, the air was sweet and cool.

Climbing lazily up to her castle, she reached for her flute, slung over her neck. One note, two note. Up and up we go.

Settling down into her palace, she played some more. Keeping her eyes still, she looked up into the stars, so small, so bright in the darkness. That's when she heard it.

The shapes cames up quickly, from all sides. A mass of writhing things. Life forms. Life parts. Gooey here, sharp there. Changing into the other and then changing back. An impossible dance, moving so fast and intricate, you couldn't find the patterns. And anyway, she heard them, more than saw.

She kept them company with her flute. A friend to play against, to play with.

They reached her awake, but she was half asleep. Tired, after this long day.

The shapes settled into forms that could hold her. Gently arranging themselves around her sleeping form.

And there they slept. Faces, arms, legs, crooks, nooks.

Tomorrow, she would think to herself, Is this boat really enough to hold us all? In all that we are?

And then, glancing up at her companions she'd change her mind again, Well, just a little bit longer then.

The End

Many days and months later, the princess found herself in her boat palace, without