"If we were meant to stay in one place we'd have roots instead of feet" - Rachel Wolchin

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I'm fifteen now, and I'm still here. That's my story, of how Dad and I discovered this 'lost island'. Since then, a lot has happened. Dad, he's no longer with me.

The next day on the island, while fishing in the reef for food, he started yelling for help. My dad never yells for help. I ran to his rescue, my bare feet blistering from the scorching sand. When I eventually reached him , he lay in the shallow waters, floating in a pool of blood.

Dreams can come true, but so can nightmares. In a rollercoaster of emotions, I knelt by my dying dad, crystal like tears dripping from my ocean eyes. The tiger shark fled from the crime scene as I splashed down besides him.
"Dad...don't die on me. Please dad." I whispered, shaking him in the turquoise waters. "Please!"

A lump rised in my throat and I collapsed against him, a blurry vision of his hacked neck filling my mind.
He coughed, blood spilling out over my hair.
"Ma-e," He was still choking up his blood, fighting to stay alive as he spoke his last words.
"Sta- stay bb-brave," His bloodshot eyes stared into mine.
I sniffed as my nose began to run.
"YOU CAN'T LEAVE ME!!" I screamed into his dirt strewn face, tears rolling uncontrollably down my cheeks, and snot building at my nose.
"DAD, PLEASE!! Stay with me!" I placed my hand on his and felt his fingers tighten around mine.
"My little lion."
And he went. Then and there. The only family I had ever had in my life. My dad. Now, all that was left of him was his blood stained body.

Apparently, when we lose someone we love, grief affects our limbic system, which is the system of nerves and networks in the brain, as well as the prefrontal cortex. This can throw off how we regulate our emotions, our concentration levels, our ability to multi-task and our memory function. The next few days after my dad's death passed in a blur. I buried him at the beach, the closest to the water as possible, since he had once told me that was where he wanted to dye.
"As close to the water Mae. I'll watch over you, in seagull form."
We had laughed then, but as I laid on the shore staring up at the sky, I believed his words. I never had a soft spot for seagulls and their fish and chip thieving, but for dad's sake I now did.

The day we had arrived, Dad and I explored the shoreline and the frontal beach. We made a wooden den out of bracken and logs, a fire pit and a makeshift fishing rod. Life seemed so bliss back then. Even though we were lost on an island in the middle of nowhere. Now I was all alone.

It was that very next week that I chose to explore the rest of the island. I quickly tied my feet to banana leafs to protect them, and held another one over my head to shield me from sunburn. All I had was my jumper, top, bottoms and underclothes.

I began to trudge through the palm tree forest. It was fenced off with thick and wild undergrowth which grew in spirals and twisted around the tree trunks. If I wanted to get in, I would have to climb the palm tree.
Fortunately, my tree climbing skills have rocketed since then and if my eight year old brain had worked a little harder, it would have seen the small cliff path. But then, we learn from our mistakes don't we?
When I finally somehow landed the other side, I gasped in shock. Fruit; every colour, shape and size. Every type, every flavour, every smell, all tucked away in abundance behind the palm forest. It was like finding gold at the end of the rainbow.

Food was sorted; at least I had thought so. These fruits might have looked delicious but some of them were indeed poisonous. Vomiting has always been a certain talent I posses. By the end of the day, I had sorted out which could be eaten and which could not. I curled up on the sandy floor in the shade of the palms and fruit bushes, lost and so very lonely. Little did I know who lived here with me.

The day that I found out who were my companions, was another boiling day, but I felt revived from my deep sleep in the shade and I was ready for a day of adventure.

My golden hair fell in knotted curls down my back, not to be washed until I later discovered the rules of hygiene on the island. I had a morning breakfast of plums and berries, being sure to pick the right ones. I couldn't trust the corral for fishing yet; I didn't want to end up like dad.

Midday, and I came into a grass opening with terrific views of the calm, sun touched ocean. The wildlife buzzed and hummed in a sweet chorus I have begun to cherish. When I saw the herd, feelings of shock and amazement rushed to mind. The horses of the lost island.

Gi had this gorgeous strawberry roan called Daydream that she loaned to me when we were at the stables. He was easily 14.2 hh with two socks and a snip on his muzzle, with the sweetest personality a pony could ever have.

These horses were massive dapple greys, with wide set eyes like pools of caramel, and ratty snow-white manes. They were quite simply the most beautiful horses I had ever seen in my life, even in their wild state.

It had been Gina and I's dream to set eyes on a lost island horse. These horses were known for their ivory like fur which sold in the next bay for over five million. No wonder I felt myself tremble with awe.

One of them lifted their head, took a look at me, and galloped over.
*Trembling with fear* - I meant.

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