Sylvie woke to find herself lying face down on a white sandy beach, foaming breakers rolling over her, soaking her to the waist. She wore her usual costume of jeans, t-shirt and sweater, and was definitely herself, not the faerie. Lifting her head, she tongued several grains of sand from her mouth and spit them out. She wiped the sand from her face and brushed more sticky grains from around her eyes.

The sun blazed overhead. She had no idea where she was. The parts of her clothing that were dry were crusted in salt, as if she had been tossed to the beach by the waves; the parts that were still wet were steaming in the heat.

“Have I been floating unconscious in the ocean?” she mumbled aloud, just to hear the sound of her own voice. Her throat was dry and the words emerged barely above a whisper. She coughed rackingly. “Oh god, where am I?”

She dragged herself to a standing position. She was so weak and sore, she moved with great effort. Brushing stiff salty strands of hair from her eyes, she looked away from the water to the shore, where a thick jungle grew. It was clearly tropical. Palm trees, thick-leaved vines, ferns the height of a tall man and odd looking plants she couldn’t identify grew in profuse abundance. She saw bright red flowers the size of a dinner plate and, wait, was that a macaw? The brilliantly-coloured bird, red edged with yellow, its wings and tailfeathers bright blue, fluttered into the air when it noticed her moving, then settled back onto its branch. It peered at her curiously with one small round eye, but stayed where it was.

“Hello, bird,” she whispered. Oh, for a drink of water! She was so thirsty her mouth and throat felt dessicated and leathery. Where on earth was she? Her mind felt fuddled, like wet cement slowly drying. She had to think! How had she come to this place?

The last thing she remembered, she had been in the odd glassy room with the wavering watery light, and the horrible voice was telling her things she hadn’t wanted to hear, things she could no longer remember. Something about Snowpepper and her… no, I won’t think about that now, she thought.

She dragged her feet over the sand to get to the shade cast by the jungle’s trees. She was afraid to go into the jungle itself—why, there were probably poisonous snakes, and spiders, and scorpions and things she couldn’t even imagine there. She imagined a jungle as a place teeming with poisonous or carnivorous life: plants, animals, insects and reptiles. Why, she might brush up against an innocent-looking flower and end up with a horrible oozing rash. Or she might inhale eggs that would hatch into microscopic worms that would burrow under her skin, make a beeline for her brain and lay their eggs there, slowly driving her blind, then mad. She’d heard about something like that once. If she fell into a pool of water (oh, but it would be worth the risk, she thought longingly), like as not it would be full of flesh-eating piranhas that would devour her in seconds flat.

She was occupied with thoughts such as these as she approached the edges of the jungle, so failed to notice when the macaw hopped from branch to branch to get closer to her until it was only a couple of feet from her head. When it spoke, she shrieked at the sound of its voice and fell, landing seat-down with a thump. The voice laughed raucously. Heart hammering, she stared wildly around. When she saw the macaw, she said, “Was that you? Is that you laughing? Quit it!” She was shaking, nearly in tears.

“Oh, girlie, don’t be so sensitive,” the macaw’s harsh voice scolded her. “You do look funny flat on your butt down there, you know. I don’t get a lot of laughs in my life, don’t grudge me this one.”

Sylvie shook her head. This couldn’t be happening. But really, she supposed it wasn’t any crazier than the place she’d been, where there were talking rabbits and faeries that flew, and danger all around. Where she had flown. She shuddered in agonized bewilderment. If only she could figure out what was going on!

“Okay, bird, okay, laugh all you want,” she snapped. “But tell me please, what is going on here? Where am I? How did I get here?”

“As to how you got here, that’s easy enough,” the macaw said, still chuckling in a voice like sandpaper rubbing on steel. “You floated, kiddo. Washed right up on the beach, just like jetsam.Or maybe it’s flotsam, I can never remember. Anyways, what you were doing before that is beyond me. And this place, well, it’s home to me, I don’t know of any other. Though I expect that’s not the answer you were looking for.”

“No. Not at all. But I guess that’s the best you can do. After all, you’re only a bird.” Sylvie stayed where she had fallen, her shoulders slumping. How would she ever find her way home from here? Then she remembered the transient home, and Carl, and her family and that she had run away. She had no home. She may as well live here as anywhere. At least she would have the macaw for company. Its voice was annoying, but it was pretty. Maybe it would drop some feathers and she could collect them and make herself a necklace.

With a groan, she relinquished this fantasy and got to her feet again. She had to have water. “Hey, macaw, or parrot, or cockatoo or whatever you are, I have a question,” she said. “Where can I find a drink of water? I’m dying of thirst.”

“Dying, are you? Well, girl, or gorilla, or monkey, whatever you are, I suppose if you walked down the beach far enough you’d find yourself a stream emptying itself ito the ocean. That’s what they do, after all. Though I’m surprised you didn’t think of that yourself, being so smart.” There was an edge to the raucous voice.

Sylvie groaned. “Oh, come on, how am I supposed to kow what kind of bird you are? And if you’re so sensitive about getting it right, why not just tell me? Give me a break, I nearly drowned and now I’m half dead of thirst and exhaustion.”

“All right,” the bird relented. “Since you are ignorant, I will tell you. I am a macaw, which of course only a fool and an idiot would confuse with a parrot or cockatoo. So now that we have established that you are a fool an an idiot who can’t think for herself, let’s get you watered.” He flapped his wings then flew a few hundred feet down the beach and waited for her there. “Come on! We don’t have all day, kiddo!” it called out. “You don’t want to die of thirst, do you?”

Sighing, not bothering to reply, Sylvie trudged through the shifting sands.

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