"W-where are you taking us? I demand to know! I'm the king, dammit!" blubbers Connor in a voice so cracked, an egg could be more authoritative.

"We're prisoners of people who have no idea who we are, Connor; you being king is as good as being a bunny. Actually, a bunny may be more helpful..."

"You are not prisoners," says the green man with the weapons and hellhounds as if he's reading from a script. "You will be permitted to leave once the queen speaks with you."

"And what does this queen wish to speak to us about? And why does speaking with us require a procession through your lovely streets? Beautiful as it is, my pollen allergies are just killing me." I jest as I spy a young girl wheeling a pile of soil to a flowerbed under a large, wooden fountain, who studies our procession with three of her eyes. I notice other townsfolk watching us with similar fascination. Our head captor merely looks at me with further confusion.

"Is this your people's humor?"

"No," chimes Connor and Gene. The man nods like he's reading a new book. "I see. It's not very good, and no one likes it, yet you continue for no apparent reason. Interesting."

"I-Interesting?" I stutter. "First off, I'm hilarious. If I wasn't a fantastic mercenary and it paid better, I'd have gone into comedy. Maybe become a playwright like that weird fellow up the coast with the skull in his hand, but that path is gone. Second, you guys live on a remote island with beasts of legend and cities made of plants, yet somehow speak the same language as us, and we're interesting to you? How on Earth can we even understand each other?"

"Ah, I believe the answer stems from the 'legend' you just spoke of. Your earlier assessment was not exactly true, kind sirs; we may not know who you are, but we have a guess as to where you came. Come along."

The man leads us past the initial rows of sweet-smelling, green and pink flower-laden houses, through a row of low hanging vines, and into an area with a small lagoon, where a pack of 'wolves' and unarmored soldiers stand on a terrace above our heads, examining our awe as we come face to face with the centerpiece of the room: A towering living throne composed of soil, blossoming flowers, thick dark vines, and small sprouts of fruits and vegetables, with an imposing jade-skinned woman adorned in a shiny mineral-laden dress perched on the seat, and a small, griffon-like bird sitting on each shoulder. Now this is how royalty is supposed to make an impression. The wolves back away from our sides and allow us to spread out in the throne room as the head guard marches over to the Queen's side.

"I, Captain Garazon, present to you, Queen Boria of Ralachar. Ri-zak k'nan neros."

"K'nan neros!" cheers the soldiers on the terrace, who immediately bow.

"I assume that's their native way of buttkissing?" I whisper to Gene.

"Please, please shut up," pleads Gene, who bristles as one of the beasts rubs its sapphire fur on his arm. Denying his request, I immediately turn to the queen and bow.

"Good morrow, Queen Boria. It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance! Allow me to be the first to say you have a lovely home, and that we come in peace."

She seems pleased with my words, but her brow furrows as one of her soldiers enters carrying the wolf I injured with my spear earlier. The wound is still bleeding as the spearhead pokes out of his skin. The rest of the soldiers then turn toward our party with a frown.

"...Mostly in peace. In our defense, how the hell were we supposed to know the creature was scouting and not trying to attack us? He was lunging from above full speed!"

"Jumping from a high point is always how our Rodiors greet people," states the Queen. "They find it like a sort of game. It is only when they strike from below you should worry, and even then, my hunters make sure they do not attack brazenly. As forceful as we are, my hunters kill for food, not sport; we are pacifistic at heart."

If this is pacifistic, I'd hate to see a violent society. This time, I know to keep that though to myself.

"Bring the visitors closer," Boria orders her hunters, and they pull us closer to the foot of the throne. She lifts herself from her throne and gracefully steps toward us, circling the group. She looks at Connor, who is now completely bathed in sweat, then me, then each of the five quivering soldiers who accompanied us, then finally stares at Gene for a while with a strange smile. He bristles under the weight of her gaze and can't bring himself to return her stare. She finally relents and chuckles lightly before returning to the head of the group.

"Who among you is your leader?"

"Believe or not, the wet one in the back is our royalty," I confirm.

"Really?" she says with a shock. I painfully nod in reply, and she sighs and motions for the soldiers to bring him forward. Connor whimpers as Boria lifts his face close to hers, and I honestly feel a bit jealous.

"What did you come here for? Are you here to fulfill the prophecy and establish trade?"

"P-please understand, we're a travelling party! All we want to do is- wait, prophecy?"

"Yes. Many years ago, when my great-grandmother was regent, two wayward sailors landed here. In her time, we had no verbal speech outside of our sacred, ritualistic dialect. When we found them, they were near dead, but we could not communicate to properly heal them immediately. Over time, we learned each other's languages, and they said that there may come a time when their kingdoms will come to the islands to establish a relationship with us. We are honestly shocked it took your people so long, but it is unwise to rush prophecy, wouldn't you agree?"

Connor's eyes raise in shock while Gene and I stare at each other with confusion; neither of us have seen the island legends since childhood, but it seems odd that the sailors learning the language and establishing a trade agreement would not only be excluded from their stories, but also completely unknown to Connor, who claimed to know everything about their trip. He turns to me and Gene, and we immediately start nodding yes. He turns back to Boria with a weary smile.

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"Of course, c-certainly can't rush fate! We're here for the prophecy! W-we were just testing to see if your tribe remembered! Th-things can change quickly in a hundred or so years, yes?"

"My great-grandmother ruled 250 years ago," Boria says with a raised eye, slightly concerned we did not know this.

"Apologies, a slip of the tongue is all! We are terribly sorry about the injury caused to your precious... Rodior, was it? As my servant (I'll give him one pass here) said, we were unaware of certain intricacies of how your people operated. Not all of the sailors tales have survived fully intact."

"I see," says Boria, slightly unsure. "I suppose it can be forgiven as an accident. Your group, as sweaty and jittery as they are, does not seem to carry malice in their hearts. Do you wish to commence trade discussions, or are there further concerns you wish to discuss?"

"Er... I do have a few questions before we commence the trade agreement. I'll have to discuss with my council before we can make a definitive offer," says Connor, which I find strange; this whole mission is about finding a way to save our kingdom's economy, and yet he turns down a golden offer for help? Dumb decisions are Connor's trademark, but this is a bridge too far. I walk over to Garazon and tap him on the shoulder.

"Yes?"

"Do you have any paper I can write on?"

He flashes a strange look, but eventually hands me a piece of smooth, somewhat flimsy bark and a piece of chalk. I nod in thanks and begin to scribble furiously, hiding my pad from the others. Gene looks at me with bewilderment.

"What are you doing now?" he probes.

"Nothing, just watching the master at work," I say with a forced smile. We turn back to Connor to see just what 'concerns' he has in mind.

"Ahem, s-so... first, how do you build such magnificent cities? You have lanterns, farming, everything built into the forest, with seemingly no electricity or gas. Do you control the plants, like dryads?"

"Not exactly, but similar enough. While we are certainly not plants ourselves, the plants have a way of... responding to our presence. We can find which plants are strongest, and almost 'decode' their structure with enough focus and contact, which allows us to discover how to use them in building and recreation, as well as maximize agriculture. We literally let the plants guide us. We have never been able to identify how we gained such an ability."

"Fascinating," Connor says, with actual amazement in his voice. He then shifts to another question, which he seems much more intrigued by: "Why do you live so deep in the forest then? Your men were covered in full garb in the lighter parts of the forest, but here, where there's nothing but plant-based light, you're uncovered. Why?"

"In a somewhat ironic twist given our previously stated connection to plants, overt sunlight is toxic to our kind. It can slowly corrode our skin, drain our energy, and turn us into a mutilated husk. It is also the reason why we never left the island to search for the sailors' homeland; it would be too big a risk to venture too far from our shores."

"I see," responds Connor. He's still intrigued, but something about his response makes me feel... slimy. I can't explain it, but this entire conversation feels targeted, like he's looking for something specific from the Queen. Connor nods and looks around the room before turning back to us.

"Well, I believe those are our main concerns. We'll be returning soon with a trade offer, but I believe we're ready to depart. What say you, dear servants (Okay, now he's going to pay)?"

"I believe that's everything, my King," says Gene with a smile. I hurriedly raise my hand, my folded piece of paper flapping in the wind.

"I have just one thing I'd like to give the Queen," I say. I step forward and hand Boria the paper with a bow. "A message of good will, Queen Boria. It was a pleasure making your acquaintance."

I kiss the Queen's hand out of respect and turn to Connor.

"Now, we may depart, your Highness."

Connor stifles a low growl and leads us out of the cave. Garazon guides us to the city's boundary and points us back to the bay.

"As long as you stay on the path, it will take you right back to the clearing. Safe travels to your party."

"Thank you, Garazon. Just one question, though."

"Yes? More paper?"

"Hehe, not this time. Are you aware of any other islands near you?"

"Hmmm, not that I recall. The only visitors to this island have been your kind."

"I see. Thank you, again," I say. I shake his scaled, worn hand and return to the group, who is now far ahead of me. Connor stares at me and scoffs.

"And what on Earth did you say to the guard?" he growls. "Did you want to make sure the Queen reads whatever lewd message you gave her? Hope she'll come to your squalid abode and lay with you like your typical buxom bimbos?"

"That sounds like your fantasy, King Quist, not mine. But if you must know, I was asking Garazon if his people knew of any other islands. They don't. That means that whatever else is out there, if anything, is just as isolated as these guys, which means we should take a more delicate approach on our next landing, so we don't risk immediate capture again."

"Bah, I'm sure it will be fine! It worked out well here because of that prophecy, right? Those sailors visited all 3 islands and survived intact; I'm sure whatever is on the other islands will be just as welcoming."

"It's unwise to assume that, Quist. We have no idea how things could've changed over 250 years. We can't expect to find a trade agreement waiting for us on every rock. Speaking of, why the hell did you decide to wait on forming one here? With this kind of agriculture, we could feed the masses for months with a tiny percentage of trade. Why wait?"

"It's all about playing the long game, Saint. You may doubt my poker skills, but mark my words, my bluff will save our kingdom yet! Besides, it is my decision on how we proceed either way; remember your place here, Ozzy," he chortles as he and the soldiers march toward the boat, now in sight as we pass the last row of trees. Gene turns to me, wanting to provide some sort of counter argument to Connor, but struggles to find the words.

"As... blunt as he is, perhaps things will go smoother if we keep our opinions on his leadership to a minimum."

"That's your style, Christoph, not mine. If he wants to put his life on the line, go ahead, but there's too many lives at risk here to go in without a plan."

"Agreed, but it's my job to worry about that, and while it may not seem like it to you, I know how to handle this group's safety," he affirms, and marches on to the ship. I'm not sure if he fully believed that statement given his track record so far, but he at least seems like he wants to try.

Now alone, I stand in the woods for a moment, thinking of how to get back at Connor for those 'servant' comments, but nothing comes to me that doesn't end with my mother's injury, so I decide to stop... until I find a nice patch of flowers, and carefully lift it from the soil before walking back to the boat. Perhaps remembering a gift for his daughter while father of the year forgot is payback enough; she'll rave about the wonderful, thoughtful pirate to her dad (And hopefully her nanny, too) all the way to the next island, where we'll probably be chopped in half all because he wants to bet on a prophecy. That last bit makes me want to hide in the trees until the boat leaves, but I force myself to gently pick the flowers and walk to the ship, hoping that, if nothing else, they kill me last so I have a chance to escape...

... and perhaps bring my mother back here so she can experiment with some of these plants in her recipes (I have to get something good out of this trip).