As thirst takes over my mind, I hear a noise that doesn't fit with the rustling of the jungle. I pause and the melodic noise continues. Is that... is that a flute? I must be dreaming.
I flick open my knife and move cautiously toward the sound. It stops and I wait, crouched, for it start again. When it does start, the music comes from behind me. Confused by the trees and many other noises of the forest, I whirl around, unable to source the haunting melody floating through leaves and greeness that surrounds me.
Rapid footsteps approach the area where I stand and I duck behind a massive fern. A boy no older than myself appears in my sight, walking down a thin weaving trail that I had not noticed in the murky lighting. He is followed by a lady, a burly man and an almost child-sized, wrinkled woman.
"Another has landed," the old woman says. "But he has dropped no supplies."
"Bastard, idiot, moron," the man curses into his beard.
"Now Bernard, you have no proof he is any of those things. We know only of the terrible things he has done to us, not of his intelligence level or heritage. Say not of what you know not."
"Of course. Sorry Mother."
"Now where is the child?"
"Child, Mother?" The lady asks, her voice a lilting and pleasant.
"The child who landed. A girl of fifteen if I'm correct."
"You know what I wish Mother? I wish you could use your powers to get us out of here," Bernard says.
"Powers? Only the power of observation. I saw her fall to us. And as I have previously said, we are not all here. We cannot leave until all have joined us."
"Is she the one Mother? Is she the last?" The lady's voice is soft, hopeful.
"No. Two more. Two more. Two more and then we can begin our journey.
My position grows uncomfortable and the pain in my stomach gets worse as my thirst claws at it with icy fingers. I've been watching the boy during their conversation. Watching as his eyes light up at the mention of another teenager and watching again as his curious glances around the trees come closer and closer to spotting me.
"Found her!" His joyous cry rings in the treetops as his eyes find mine.
"Come child." The old woman says. "There are others who would wish to meet you."