Morning crept over Skull Island in a hazy gray fog, dew clinging to every leaf and branch. I stood on the cliff's edge, watching the mist roll across the canopy, thinking about the stranger now sharing my skies.
She hadn't left.
Still perched beneath the tree where she slept, wings folded neatly, head resting on her claws. She was cautious, calm, but there was something in the way she watched me—a flicker of curiosity that matched my own.
I stretched my wings and took a short glide down to the pond. The fish were already stirring, shadows darting below the surface. I snapped up two, crunching their soft bodies between my teeth as I looked up toward the cliff.
She was watching.
I stared back, then jerked my head toward the water.
An invitation.
She didn't move at first. I stood by the edge, letting her decide. I wasn't going to force her—if this was going to work, it had to be built on something solid. Trust, maybe. Or at least mutual gain.
She finally stood, shook out her wings, and glided down to meet me.
The moment her claws hit the dirt beside the pond, I turned and nudged the water with my snout.
These fish—my fish—weren't just a meal. They were a plan. A future. I watched as she crouched, looked into the water, and plucked one out in a smooth, swift motion.
She crunched it without hesitation, looked up at me, and blinked slowly.
Approval.
I huffed gently, pleased. Then I led her up the stone path along the cliffside to my cave. The route was narrow, steep in places, but she kept up easily.
When we reached the entrance, I paused. Inside was nothing special—just a hollowed space in the rock, dark and dry. But I'd made it mine. Leaves piled thick on one side, layered with moss and soft branches. Feathers too, from birds I'd hunted.
I stepped inside and gave her a small look over my shoulder. Not a warning. Not a challenge.
Just a quiet "This is where I live."
She followed. Walked the edge of the cave, sniffed at the walls, looked at the bedding, then at me.
I saw the way her eyes lingered on the leaf pile.
She approved.
She didn't try to take it from me. Didn't assert dominance or bare teeth. She simply walked over, circled once, and curled beside it—not on it. Beside it. Close, but respectful.
That was enough.
I lay down beside the bedding, smoke curling from my nostrils as I relaxed again, this time not alone. The air inside the cave felt warmer than usual, less empty.
She didn't speak, of course. We had no words.
But her silence spoke of understanding. Of survival. Of a strange bond growing in a place where everything else wanted us dead.
This was still my cave. My pond. My plan.
But now, I wasn't just guarding it for myself.
I had someone to protect it with.