Chapter 2 of Tro Stoirmean

Good morning! As I was very busy this week working on different writing projects and did not have as much time to work on writing another blog post, I decided that I would post another chapter of my novella. As before, this chapter will most likely go through edits and changes as I continue working on it, but I'm hoping to get you interested in it before I release the entire thing. (AKA Sneaky Author Gives You Cliffhangers So You Will Buy Their Book).

Chapter II

“Old boy?”

I stared out across the waves, hoping that my hound would come into sight, his golden head bobbing above the water.

“Here, old boy! Here!”

No reply. The silence was deafening.

I waded out into the water and began to collect all the timber and wood that was floating from the Tro Stoirmean. I could use it to repair her, though I would likely need to buy more in the nearest village.

The rain had lessened slightly, but thunder still growled and the wind was still blowing strong waves up farther in the water.

My hound was out there somewhere.

But where?

When I had finished gathering all of the salvageable wood, I carried it up farther onto the shore and into the mossy grass where I set it down. I longed to lie down and sleep after my harrowing night, but there was still work to be done that could not wait. I must see what was left in the ship’s cabin.

I went around to the back of the Tro Stoirmean and slowly pushed it farther up onto the shore before climbing up onto the deck, opening the hatch, and climbing down.

There was sea water up to my shins. My bunk nailed to the wall was wet, but the blankets were still there and had not floated away. My rations were ruined, but my bow and hunting knife as well as a few tools were still on their hooks, so I could easily hunt for game on the island.

I took my blankets, hunting weapons, and tools, and climbed up onto the deck. The rain had stopped completely now, and the clouds were beginning to clear. I could see that the sun would soon be up.

Stumbling across the shore to the wood pile, I laid down my things, and I was about to lie down on the soft grass when I heard a strange noise. My head snapped around. The sound came again.

It had sounded like a bark.

It came again, clearer and louder this time, and forgetting my weariness I stood and looked out across the water once more to see a furry golden head swimming towards me. I was too surprised to do anything at first, but I soon collected myself and was running down the shore towards him.

My hound dragged himself up onto the rocks and smiled up at me, his tongue panting happily. I knelt beside him, rubbing his ears. He slowly stood up and shook himself, spraying water into my face. Even though I was having to blink to keep myself awake, a big smile spread across my face.

Then we both walked up the shore back to where I had been sitting before, and lay down to have a good, long sleep.

When I awoke the sun had risen high in the sky. I felt the warm beams against my face and the comforting feeling of the hound’s head on my lap. Opening my eyes, I looked up into the sky of a late afternoon.

Slowly, I sat up and looked around. Now that the sun was up I could see my surroundings better than when I had first arrived.

I recognised this part of the island. It was one of the prettiest places. The sea stretched far to the horizon. The hills around me were full of tall grasses and flowers. The weather was particularly mild after the harsh weather of a few hours before. It was a beautiful day in a beautiful place.

But I would rather be anywhere else.

I absently rubbed the hound’s head as I looked across the beach at the remains of the Tro Stoirmean. I would like to get to work on her right away, and the sooner the better. Suddenly I heard the hound’s stomach growl, and realised with a pang how hungry I was as well.

The boat would have to wait. I had to get something to eat.

Standing, I leaned down and grabbed my bow and hunting knife before setting off. I knew this place like the back of my hand, and I knew the best places to find food.

Before long I had shot down a few birds. I tossed one to the hound, who devoured it immediately, and then set about lighting a fire so I could cook my own dinner. I didn’t bother going back to the beach to make the fire. I was too hungry to wait any longer for food.

After I had a fire started and had skinned and cooked the other bird, I sat down to my meal, thinking. After seeing the boat in broad daylight I had noticed things I hadn’t seen before. The damage to the hull was more extensive. There were more small holes and sieves. The sails were going to take hours to sew back together. Without a doubt, I would be stuck on Eriskay for quite some time.

I stomped out my small fire. The hound seemed to sense my anger, for he looked up at me apologetically. I stalked away from the remains of the fire, prepared to start working on the Tro Stoirmean at once.

Yet before I could start to work, I needed supplies. Those supplies could only be bought from the village.

I had thankfully had my money on me when the Tro Stoirmean was shipwrecked, and now I stopped to pull the small little bag out of my collar from the rope where it hung. I poured the contents out into my hand and counted the coins. I did not have much, but it should be sufficient to get what I needed.

Before long the little village came into sight. I had been to this village a thousand times, and knew my way around well. Avoiding all eye-contact, I quietly bought what I needed; ropes, needle, thread, nails, and some timber.

“Yeh aren’t from here, are yeh?” One elderly lady asked, giving me a kind smile as I bought thread from her. I shook my head, and quickly left her standing by her cart. The less questions I had to answer, the better.

My trip in the village did not last too long, and soon me and the hound were jogging away from it, down towards the shore. I was almost penniless now. Everything had cost more than I had first thought.

In a matter of minutes we were standing on the beach once more. I dumped my new supplies next to the old ones, and taking up several long pieces of timber, a few nails, and my hammer, I began walking down towards the boat. The hound lazily flopped down in the grass to watch me work.

I wanted to work on the hull first, so I stepped down beside it, and was preparing to begin working when I heard a noise from inside. I froze, listening carefully.

Something creaked loudly from inside the cabin.

As quietly as I could I lay down what I had been carrying and slowly leaned around to look through the gaping hole and into the cabin.

Somebody was in there.

It was a girl.

She was slender with long brown hair, and she was looking around my cabin in my boat. She was examining the bunk, now the hooks on the wall, now my fishing nets tangled up in the corner. What was she doing here? What business was it of hers to mess with my things? I reasoned that she must be someone from the village.

I watched as she continued looking around, until finally she turned back towards the opening. I ducked backwards, but it was too late.

“Is someone there?” She asked.

I remained silent, and gathering up my things began to back away from the boat.

I heard small splashes as someone walked through the water in the cabin.

“Hello? I thought that I saw someone. Are you a survivor? Do you know who’s boat this is?”

So many questions. I continued to back away, and ducked behind the back of the boat. I heard the girl step out onto the shore. The hound leapt up, and wagging his tail, ran to her, smiling his big smile. What a traitor.

“A dog!” I heard her exclaim. “Hello. I don’t think you’re who I saw though; I was sure I saw a human face.”

The hound trotted away from her and straight towards me. I scrambled back, but he had already found me. The girl had been following him, and now she came upon me, crouching behind the boat with wood and nails in my arms.

“I was right!” She cried, a smile breaking out across her face. Then, “My! You do look like a castaway,” without bothering to hide the surprise in her brown eyes. She was probably right. I never bothered to cut my hair or do anything to improve my appearance. My tunic was patched and old, and my face was dirty from sleeping on the ground.

“You look rather overgrown,” was her next comment. “Your hair looks like a girls’ if I’m being wholly honest!”

I stared at her. Nobody had ever spoken to me like this before.

“Is this your boat?” She asked.

There was no help for it. I nodded.

“Where’s your crew? Did they drown? If they did, I am so sorry! I can’t imagine what it would be like to be stranded all alone on an island, though I have heard tales of such things.”

I started to speak, then cleared my throat.

“I have no crew.”

She thought this over for a moment before realisation dawned over her features.

“I see! Do you mean to say that you sail all alone? Is this just your boat?”

I nodded again.

She clasped her hands, beaming. “How wonderful! But oh,” she stopped smiling and let her hands fall to her sides. “Now you’re stuck here all alone! If you need a place to stay, my family has a large home-”

I shook my head vehemently, cutting her off.

“But you won’t have anywhere to sleep,” she exclaimed.

Are all girls this naive? I wondered as I said, “I have the ground.”

She wrinkled her nose. “That doesn’t sound very comfortable.”

“It’s plenty comfortable for me,” I said. Then I added a touch bitterly, “I’m used to it.”

The girl was not listening any longer. She had turned back to my boat.

“What is your boat’s name?” She asked.

I shrugged.

“It does have a name, doesn’t it?”

I nodded reluctantly.

“What is it then?”

“The Tro Stoirmean,” I told her. The sooner she left, the better. I didn’t know why she had bothered to stay even this long. As soon as she was gone I could get to work on repairing the boat.

The girl’s eyes had lit up when I spoke, and she leaned over, running her fingers over the smooth damp wood of the Tro Stoirmean ’s side.

“Through storms,” she translated. “That is what the name means, isn’t it?”

I nodded again. She asked so many questions.

“Well, she didn’t go through this storm, did she?” The girl said.

I frowned.

“What is your name?” The girl asked.

“Arne.”

“That’s a nice name,” she said. “My name is Aisla.”

Aisla surveyed the boat once more, and then said, “How will you get off of Eriskay, Arne?”

“I will repair my boat and be gone as soon as it is ready,” I said.

“I will help you repair it!” Aisla said, smiling.

Oh no.

“Thank you, but I can do it better on my own-” I started to say, but Aisla interrupted me.

“Nonsense! Two are better than one. I shall help you. When should I come tomorrow? Is noontime good? Maybe dawn is better…yes, I will come at dawn tomorrow.”