Helen seemed to spill out of the plane onto too-bright white sand that hurt her eyes and made her head spin even more than it already was. Like a new-born calf learning to walk she propped herself up and attempted to stand on unsteady, quaking legs. She was on a small beach, made up of a narrow sweep of white sand and a fringe of dry-looking, green-topped trees. A short distance away there were people. She forced herself to move forward, despite her shaking legs and stumbled towards the small group. A blurred figure was moving towards her, quickly becoming more defined and gaining deep, green eyes and a mass of untidy, inky-black hair. Delilah.

"Helen!"

A strong arm was coiled firmly around her waist and pulled her up, taking the weight of her trembling legs.

"We thought we'd lost you! Sit, sit! The plane must have crashed, and you see, no one really kows what to do, but we're trying to get as many people . . ."

Delilah's voice was lost in mist of grey fog as Helen reeled back and fainted, left with nothing but the greynesss of the fog slowly deepening and turning black. 

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