Annie sat atop a huge boulder looking down upon the man lying unconscious on the beach of sea-worn pebbles, cradling her bow across her knees. She'd discovered him quite some time ago but hadn't approached him. There hadn't been a case of Pox amongst her people in more than a generation, but some of the Elders believed it was still out there, ready to spring forth at any time and finish off what remained of the People.

The man eventually stirred, struggled into a sitting position, and surveyed his surroundings. There wasn't much to sea, really: to the southeast was the open water of the bay, today relatively smooth, while in other directions he would find nothing but rocky cliffs rising from the sea, their faces alive with millions of birds in the midst of nesting season.

(OOC: They are at the yellow dot on the southeast shore of a now ice-free Greenland.)

Finally, the man looked up and to his left and caught sight of Annie atop her rock. Even at a distance of almost 10 meters, she could tell that his eyes were taking a walk over her from head to toe and back up again. Annie had, of course, taken a long moment to look the stranger up and down, too. He was practically naked, lacking shirt or shoes and wearing short pants of a fabric Annie didn't recognize.

She'd noted during her time of studying him that he was a handsome and very fit man, what Mama would call an exciting example of perfection. Her Papa would have similar commentary on the man, likely suggesting that he was just the right man to father Annie's first children when she eventually reached the Clan's breeding age in eight months.

For her part, Annie had been described as an exciting example of perfection, too. She was cute in the face, tall -- for a woman -- and curvy in the body with well-proportioned hips perfect for childbearing. Her father had already entertained breeding offers for Annie from men of both their village and two neighboring ones, but as she was only 15, those deals would have to wait.

"Hej," Annie said, smiling down to the man. When he didn't respond, she asked, "Forstår du mig?" He didn't respond to her question of whether or not he understood her. "Dansk...?" She switched from Danish to Islandic: "Íslenska...?"

Still, no response. Annie began to wonder if it was something other than a language barrier. Looking to her bow, which had a notched arrow in it, even if it wasn't pointed at the man, she wondered if perhaps that wasn't the issue. She returned the arrow to the quiver over her shoulder, then asked and quickly corrected in yet another of her known languages, "Engelsk...? English?"

Craig King took a long moment between regaining consciousness and regaining his senses to lift himself into a sitting position. His entire body ached. Fuck, even his eyelids hurt.

He was lying on a beach of pebbles well worn down by the action of the waves upon them. Looking out at the bay, he saw no signs of wreckage from his ship. There was no sign of the storm that had torn it apart either. How long had he been adrift on that piece of debris? How long had he been unconscious? How much time had passed since he'd first thought his life would end with drowning?

Looking back and upward at the cliffs that surrounded him even more than the sea, King was startled to find a young woman with a loaded bow looking down at him. Great! I survive the wreck only to be skewered. I wonder if they eat people here like they do in other parts of this fucking mad world.

King couldn't help but notice that she was a pretty young thing. She was in her teens he was certain. Beautiful face, beautiful hair, beautiful body -- that of it he could see, anyway. Being a typical, red-blooded male, he couldn't help but imagine lying between the parted thighs of the young woman as she herself lay back upon the smooth, round-stone beach. King would have found it ironic that she had already imagined her own father wanting the same thing of the pair of them once she was of age.

She spoke to him with an accent that sounded Scandinavian or perhaps Germanic, not that King really knew the difference between them. "Hej. Forstår du mig?"

King tried to imagine what she was trying to get across to him. She continued, "Dansk...? Íslenska...?"

He tensed up a bit as she handled her bow but then relaxed as he realized she was disarming it. She continued, "Engelsk...? English?"

"English," King repeated without hesitation, thinking finally, something I understand. "English, yes. I speak English."

He stretched his arms, then his legs, then slowly stood; he didn't want to startle her in any way. Looking about for signs of others, he determined that she was likely alone. He smiled to her. "My name is Craig. Craig King. People call me King."

He paused to see if she would tell him her own name. He looked around yet again. He asked, "Where am I? And ... where's everyone else? There were 36 of us aboard the Elizabeth. Am I the only one who made it?"

"English," the stranger said, expanding, "English, yes. I speak English."

Annie found his accent and manner of speaking odd and knew he wasn't from any of the villages of which she knew. He stood and looked about, adding, "My name is Craig. Craig King. People call me King."

She considered not sharing her name with the stranger but, after a long moment, said in her best English, "My name Annie."

"Where am I?" he asked, again looking about himself. "And ... where's everyone else? There were 36 of us aboard the Elizabeth. Am I the only one who made it?"

She didn't understand about what he was speaking when he spoke of something called The Elizabeth as her people didn't name their boats. She addressed the other part of his inquiry. "You are the first person to come from the sea. Did you swim here?"

"My name Annie."

“Nice to meet you, Annie,” King said with a smile.

When he asked about the others aboard the Elizabeth, Annie said, "You are the first person to come from the sea. Did you swim here?"

King laughed. “From Newfoundland…? No.”

He noticed she didn't react to his mentioning of the island from which he and the others had departed. He wondered if she had ever heard the name. Another time, King told himself.

“Can we walk the shoreline?” he asked. “I'd like to see if anyone else made it. I can't believe I'm the only one.”

It was true that Annie was unfamiliar with the name Newfoundland. One of the things the stranger would discover about her people – if he was allowed to remain, that is – was that they had lost much of their knowledge of the world beyond their own island.

Ironically, that loss of knowledge had been intentional, not an unfortunate result of the isolation of the apocalypse. The Elders of generations gone had made the decision that their people were better off not believing there was more out there to be seen and explored.

He asked, “Can we walk the shoreline? I'd like to see if anyone else made it. I can't believe I'm the only one.”

Annie stood tall on the massive boulder above King, studied him for a moment, then pulled out a horn and blew into it several times. She told him, “You have to wait. I have to show you to others.”

Over the next couple of minutes, Clan members alerted by the specific pattern of horn blows would rush to Annie from the village hidden just beyond a curve in the cliffside to the north. They would be armed with bows and spears.

King’s heart leapt as Annie blew into the horn; he knew immediately, even without her explanation, that she was reporting him to others.

“I'm not going to hurt you,” he told her. “I'm not a threat.”

Whether she believed him or not, King couldn't tell. She simply stood there tall over him, watching him, the bow in her hands.

A figure appeared in the distance behind her, a man. He stopped a moment at the sight of King. Then, after speaking to someone King couldn't see, the man hurried Annie’s direction, a pair of spears clutched in one hand. He covered the rough ground easily and quickly, both familiar with the trail and simply nimble.

Others began to appear, from both that same direction and from up the beach. King noted that nearly all of them carried weapons, either bows, spears, knives, or a combination therein. He wondered whether they were for combat, hunting, or both.

When the first man arrived, King repeated, “I'm not going to hurt you. I'm not a threat. I'm just a survivor of a ship wreck. I'd like to search for my companions.”

“I'm not going to hurt you,” King told Annie. “I'm not a threat.”

She wanted to believe him, but she couldn't take that chance, thus the alert on the horn. Annie had never seen a stranger from a strange land. Every person she'd ever met had been a resident of what remained of Greenland, and nearly all of them had come from no more that 200 kilometers away, barely a fifth the length of the island. Annie’s world was, to say the least, quite small.

The figure coming up behind Annie was Paul. Paul was the son of one of the Clan's most important Elders and -- because of this -- was also the leading candidate for being the first to seed Annie’s womb when she came of age. She didn't care much for him; she found him arrogant and aggressive. She certainly wasn't eager to have him between her parted thighs, thrusting hard and deep until he emptied his balls inside her.

“Did he get near you?” he asked Annie with a concerned voice upon reaching her. His meaning was actually Did he touch you? Did he infect you? Paul's concern wasn't for Annie's health really. It was for his own future, specifically as the father of Annie's first child.

“No, he didn't get near me,” Annie responded. “I don't think he's sick.”

“You don't know that!” Paul stressed. He was right, of course; the incubation period for the Bug was long, perhaps months long. It was why the virus had been so successful at spreading across the world. “He'll have to go into quarantine … or leave."

"Quarantine!" Annie said without hesitation. She saw how Paul reacted to her response and, just as quickly, covered for her excitement about the stranger with, "I mean ... Papa's going to want to question him ... before he gets sent away."

Annie's father, Bran, just happened to be the second man to arrive on the scene. He'd been down the beach hunting seals, unfortunately unsuccessfully this day. As he neared the stranger, he leveled his spear and ordered, "Don't move! Don't get close to anyone!"

“I'm not going to hurt you," King repeated. "I'm not a threat."

"Who are you? Where'd you come from?" Bran asked, slowly circling the man from a distance of no less than 10 meters. He saw no signs of infection, but like Paul had said earlier, you just couldn't know for sure until after a suitable quarantine period.

"I'm just a survivor of a shipwreck," King said. "I'd like to search for my companions.”

By now, there were almost a dozen Clansmen on the beach, watching the goings-on. Bran, who was one of the youngest Elders and well respected, ordered everyone to stay back. Then, to Paul, he said, "Take him to the quarantine hut. Post a guard. No one goes in until I say so. Get him food, water, and blankets."

"Yes, Elder," Paul said, stepping out of the path between King and the village uphill. "Let's go."

Bran told the stranger, "I will send search parties up and down the beach to look for your friends ... so long as you follow this man's instructions and don't give us any trouble. If you do ... give us trouble, I mean ... Paul has permission to put his spear through you. Do you understand? I can't take a chance that you are infected with the Bug."

He waited for King to respond. If the man agreed to the orders, Bran would gather armed villagers and do as he had promised. If the man didn't agree ... well ... he'd have to figure that out when it happened.

A dozen or more people from Annie's Clan would arrive, one after another, as the girl's father instructed that King would be escorted to quarantine. Then, he offered, "I will send search parties up and down the beach to look for your friends ... so long as you follow this man's instructions and don't give us any trouble."

This man, of course, was the one standing protectively between King and Annie. It was obvious that there was some sort of relationship there, though, King couldn't know what it was or that it was more heavily felt from the man's side than it was the girl's.

"If you do ... give us trouble, I mean ... Paul has permission to put his spear through you," the man in charge said. "Do you understand? I can't take a chance that you are infected with the Bug."

"I understand," King said, raising his arms to his sides in a surrender gesture, before slowly letting them hang to his side again. "I understand your caution. I really do. Food, water, and blankets would be great."

He gestured to his lack of clothing -- raggedy denim shorts was all he'd had on when the Elizabeth had struck a reef or shoal or whatever -- and asked, "Maybe something warm to wear, too?"

"We'll get you something, yes," Bran said, looking to Paul and nodding to indicate that the man was to see to it.

As he headed up the trail, the villagers hurried to maintain a distance from King. He paused at the bottom of the big boulder on top of which the girl still stood. Smiling up to her, he said, "See you again soon, I hope."

The sun was behind Annie, so King couldn't see her reaction. He headed up the trail as ordered, looking back to find Paul following him at a respectable distance. Down on the beach, Annie's father began giving instructions and dividing the villagers such that each of the searching groups had some armed men included.

"I understand your caution," the stranger said. "I really do." He agreed to Annie's father's demands that he do as told, then -- as he was departing under Paul's escort -- he looked up to Annie, smiled, and said, "See you again soon, I hope."

Annie tried not to smile but failed. She was happy the man couldn't see her expression what with the sun to her back. Looking to Paul, though -- standing off to one side enough to not have her in silhouette -- Annie could see that that man who yearned to breed with her when she came of age did see the smile ... and didn't like it. The smile faded, but as the pair headed away up the trail, it returned again.

"Annie!" her father barked. She looked to him sharply, realizing in the back of her mind that he'd already called her at least once, possibly more. Bran told her, "I need you to go with the search team heading north."

She pointed a hand toward the trail and the departing pair of men, beginning, "But shouldn't I--?"

"No!" he cut in, adding, "You shouldn't. You should do what I told you to do."

She nodded to him reluctantly, took one last look at the handsome stranger walking up the trail, then descended from the boulder to join the team of three heading up the pebble beach to the north. Over the next five miles, they would find only scattered, infrequent debris before finally coming across three bodies in close proximity to one another.

It was a gruesome sight, not because they were dead but because they were already being fed upon by predators and scavengers: a single wolf and several crows which the canine couldn't give a moment's notice ate upon one corpse, while the other two -- a couple of dozen yards away -- were being devoured by a variety of sea birds and dozens of crabs respectively. It was a prime example of Mother Nature at work, Annie mused to herself.

"We go around them," the leader of the search team ordered. When one of the others asked about killing the wolf -- they hunted the flocks of a village with whom Annie's Clan traded -- the leader said, "No, leave it be. Maybe this will sate it for a while."

They headed up from the surf, bodies, and diners, circled around the scene, and continued onward. They found one more body half a mile later, this one being eaten exclusively by sea birds. Again they passed by at a distance and continued onward. They'd covered another five miles before they turned back; once they had to wade out into the surf up to their chests to get around a rocky outcrop, while another time they'd had to climb up and over a short, moderately steep cliff to continue onward.

Darkness had fallen by the time they'd returned to the village.


Paul had called out to the other villagers before him and King to clear a path. It was an order they obeyed immediately upon seeing the stranger he was escorting at spear point. The quarantine hut was the first of the structures they neared, a good hundred yards from the rest of the village. They hadn't had to use it in over ten years, the last time that a visitor -- a friend, not a stranger -- had arrived at the village with a fever and sweats, two of the Bug's symptoms. He'd turned out to be just fine and continued to visit the village for trade even today.

"In there," Paul said, jabbing his spear in the direction of the hut. "I'll have food, water, blankets, and clothing brought to you."

Paul didn't bother to inspect the hut first, and both men leapt in surprise when -- upon King opening the door -- a raccoon leapt at them, hissing, before hurrying away, followed by her four younglings. Inside, King wouldn't find much: four walls, a reed floor, a ceiling that leaked when it rained, and a bed mat that now smelled of the camp robbers.

"As Elder Bran said, if you do as said, you will be fairly treated," Paul said after King had entered the hut. He added, "This is not punishment. This is not imprisonment. This is quarantine. We cannot chance the Bug or anything else getting to our people."

If King had nothing more to say or ask, Paul would close the door and post up on guard outside. If the stranger did have more to say, he would do his best to respond.

"In there," King's escort said as they reached a hut that sat far away from the rest of the village. The man named Paul promised food, water, clothing, and bedding, then repeated the warnings Annie's father had given regarding being a bother. About quarantine, Paul said among other things, "We cannot chance the Bug or anything else getting to our people."

It was the anything else part of which King took notice. The Bug that had nearly wiped out the Human Race wasn't the only microscopic danger threatening people anymore. Nearly all of the old dangers from before the invent of vaccines and medications had returned to haunt Humas: measles, mumps, rubella, chicken pox, even smallpox were all killing people in high numbers once again. Influenza, too, was taking lives, mostly during the winter months but -- depending on the region -- during the summer months as well.

Paul closed the door, and additional noise and movement of the door told King that it had been locked or barred or both as well. There were a number of voices in the near distance as villagers came to speak to Paul about the stranger amongst them. King tried to listen to some of the conversation but didn't pick up anything of importance.

After a while, the door jostled again, then -- after Paul ordered King to move to the far wall -- opened again. The man tossed in a bundle of bedding, then a cloth bag onto that. "In it you'll find some warm clothes ... food ... water."

He pointed to a small open fire pit, then to firewood near one wall. "You can build a fire if it gets cold. Colder," he corrected. "I don't know how long you'll be in here, but ... I assure you ... you will be taken care of if you don't make a fuss."

"Thank you," King responded with a polite smile. "I have no intention of making a fuss." He started forward for the offerings, then stopped as he saw Paul back up a step. King backed up again, saying, "I'll wait 'til you're gone."

"The girl you met on the beach," Paul said with a stern tone. "You'll stay away from her. Not just during quarantine but after, too. You have no reason to get to know her. None."

I was right, King thought to himself regarding his earlier assumption that King and Annie had a thing together. He didn't speak on his feelings, though, instead only saying, "Of course."

Paul departed and again locked up the door. King went to work making a bed and a fire, cooking some meat and root crops, then laid down to think about where fate had taken him. In less than a minute, he was sound asleep.

It was nearly dusk before Annie and her fellow searchers returned to the village, and the first thing she did was seek out her father, asking anxiously, “So, what happened? What did he say? Tell me, please, Papa.”

“There's nothing to tell, Annie,” he responded after taking a moment to study her face and consider her anxious excitement. “We put him in the quarantine hut. That's it.”

Annie was disappointed, to say the least. She'd hoped to learn something about the stranger, anything. She gave her report about what they'd found up the beach – gruesome details included – and answered any questions her father asked; the one he asked repeatedly in different ways was, of course, whether or not she had touched anything foreign, to which she had repeatedly answered no.

“What is it about this man that has you so uneasy…?” he asked before then adding, “... excited?”

Annie felt a blush fill her cheeks before she defensively said, “Nothing! I'm … I'm not excited! I'm … curious!”

“Strangers have come to our village before, Annie,” he reminded her.

“Not like this!” she pointed out. “The others … they always arrived with someone we knew … someone from a Trading Village … someone we trusted. This man…”

After a moment of his daughter not completing her sentence, he asked, “What about this man?”

Again, there was silence for a long moment before Annie answered, “I dunno.” She hopped up, saying, “I have chores to do before dark.”

She was moving for the door as her father said sternly, “Stay away from the quarantine hut, Annie. You understand what happens if he is sick and–”

“I understand, Papa,” she cut him off, smiling. “I'll stay away.”

And she did, too – barely! After her chores and dinner, Annie went to sit with those tasked with watching over the stranger. There were three people stationed separately about 30 feet from the quarantine hut such that each could see the other two at the little campfires keeping them warm and the night illuminated.

They were supposed to keep quiet once night fell to allow the other villagers – and the stranger – to sleep without distraction, but that wasn't what happened. They chatted with each other with muted voices and occasionally peppered each other with little pebbles, particularly when one of them threatened to drift off.

Annie sat for a while with Belle, the only female who took a turn watching over the stranger. They whispered to each other about King; Belle hadn't seen the man before he entered the hut, so Annie described him in as much detail as she could recall – which turned out to be a lot, including her opinion that after the two of them had talked a while on the beach, that Annie thought she'd seen a bulge grow in the front of King's raggedy shorts. The two young women giggled together about that, telling the other two guards to mind their own business when they wanted to know what was going on.

Annie’s father arrived after a while, telling her to get to bed. She did as told, hesitating with the desire to tell King goodnight. She kept it to herself, though, instead simply hugging her friend goodbye, kissing her father goodnight, telling the other guards they were idiots – they'd teased the girls about the handsome strangers, as boys do – then headed back to the hut she had shared with just her father since the accidental drowning of her mother three years earlier.

When her father didn't immediately return, and with her thinking firmly set upon the handsome stranger, Annie found her hands caressing themselves over her young, firm, and otherwise untouched body … over her modest breasts with their sensitive and ever-pert nipples … and down between her thighs to the warmth and wetness of her womanhood.

She'd only recently discovered the joy of masturbation, and what with the solitude of the moment and the fresh visual of these stranger in the quarantine hut, Annie took a few minutes to pleasure herself and, for the first time in her life, achieve the wondrous euphoria of orgasm. After her heart had ceased pounding and her breathing had returned to normal, she drifted off to a deep, peaceful sleep.

“So, what happened?” Annie asked excitedly of her father. “What did he say? Tell me, please, Papa.”

Bran was conflicted about his daughter’s interest in the stranger. He'd raised her to be curious about the world, but he had had and always would have concerns about the Human Beings infesting it.

Bran had been born after the Bug made its apocalyptic appearance on Earth. His parents and grandparents had all succumbed to it, leaving him in the care of strangers who, fortunately, had raised him as if he were one of their own.

He'd been educated with a general understanding of the pre-pandemic world, alongside an understanding of what previously known technologies, processes, and more were better left forgotten.

That was part of his concerns regarding this stranger. Bran had no idea where King had come from, nor what knowledge he brought with him from that place. The man might very well show himself to be free of any infectious pathogens, only to reveal an understanding of things Bran and the other Elders would prefer were left unknown to their people.

“There's nothing to tell, Annie,” he told his daughter truthfully, as no one had questioned the stranger as of yet. “We put him in the quarantine hut. That's it.”

Bran could see the disappointment in his daughter's eyes. He talked to her about past visitors, only to have her point out rightfully that this one was indeed different.

Annie headed out to do her chores, and Bran warned her about keeping her distance from the quarantine hut.

Sometime later, he found her sitting with her friend, Belle, as the latter stood guard. Bran sent his daughter home, then replaced her on the small section of log that served as a bench. Silently for quite a while, he took his turn just staring at the hut and wondering about its occupant.

“What did my daughter have to say about this man?” he finally asked the young woman next to whom he'd sat. He smiled at her, adding, “If telling me wouldn't violate any sort of confidence, I mean.”

“What did my daughter have to say about this man?” Bran asked Belle. “If telling me wouldn't violate any sort of confidence, I mean.”

Belle giggled like a young woman would when asked such a question by such a man about his daughter. “I don't know if I should tell you or not.”

The other two guards laughed about something they were discussing in whispers from their own guard posts. Belle wondered whether if it was about her and Bran, but a moment later she overheard some of the conversation and concluded it wasn't.

She looked to her best friend’s father, again smiling. There would be something that others from the village could talk about that involved both Belle and Bran, but that time was still months away, if ever.

“I informed Tyka of my choice this morning,” she whispered to Bran. He looked at her with an expectant expression. Her lips widened in a delighted smile. “I chose you, if you are willing…”

Belle didn't know what to expect from Bran, but she hoped for his acceptance of her offer to let him father her first child. Tyka, the Clan’s matchmaker, was the one to suggest Bran for the duty, despite him being not just her best friend’s father but also 5 years more than twice her own age of 19.

There were plenty of younger men – from this village and others – who would have loved the opportunity to be the first to fill Belle’s garden with their seed. But for most of them, it would have been more about just wanting to fuck her. She was a beauty and a virgin, as was Annie, and men both young and old ogled her without shame.

Bran was a healthy, fit, handsome man who had proven himself to be a successful breeder. Each of his children had been healthy, fit stock, and any woman in the Clan would be happy to bear his child. Additionally, Belle and Bran were well separated from one another genetically, with no known blood relative shared by them back to the founding of the community which, correctly or not, called itself a Clan these days.

“You accept,” Belle tempted Bran with a devilish smirk, “and I'll tell you what your daughter said about the stranger.”

She giggled again, knowing how badly the man wanted to know what Annie thought of King.

“I informed Tyka of my choice this morning,” Belle whispered to Bran. “I chose you, if you are willing…”

Bran’s brain didn't immediately comprehend what the young woman was telling him; his thinking was still wrapped around King, Annie, and the latter's apparent infatuation with the former.

When Belle's words finally penetrated his thick skull, Bran felt an anxious chill run up his spine. Without realizing he was doing it, he asked with shock, “Me…? Really?”

Bran really shouldn't have been surprised. As Tyka the Matchmaker had told Belle, Bran really was a good choice to father a child with her. He'd fathered 16 children across five villages over the past two decades, and with the exception of three who'd died young of accidental causes, all were living healthy lives. Four of them – 3 young women and 1 young man – had even had children of their own, making him a grandfather.

Bran’s surprise had nothing to do with whether or not he was a good candidate for passing his genes onto another generation. No, his surprise was simply that Belle, a beautiful, 19 year old virgin who was well-chased by every horny young man in this village and several others, had picked the 43 year old father of her best friend to make a baby with her.

Bran suddenly realized that his cock was getting hard. Arranged breeding wasn't about sexual pleasure, of course. It was about bringing forth the new and healthy generation of Human Beings. Still, how could a man look at beautiful, sexy Belle, knowing he was going to soon be inside of her, and not get hard. C’mon, really?

“You accept,” Belle tempted as Bran’s brain was still wrestling with the reality of it all, “and I'll tell you what your daughter said about the stranger.”

She giggled, which made Bran smile, then laugh. He told her with a sincere tone, “It would be my honor, Belle.”

“Me…? Really?”

Belle giggled at Bran’s surprise. She'd expected it, despite Tyka telling Bran that she'd suggested he father Belle's first child. And Belle had talked to Bran about it a few days ago, too. It had been a very brief conversation, with her asking if Tyka had spoken to him, Bran saying yes, and Belle nodding before turning and hurrying away.

Still, Belle understood his surprise. She was, in fact, the sexual target of many young and older men. Most of them were all about the sex, though, using the Clan’s tradition of arranged breeding as a way to put their cocks inside women who often would not entertain the thought of parting their thighs for them.

Not every Clan did things the way Clan Kyst did, of course. The Coast Clan had instituted arranged breeding shortly after its creation, to ensure healthy, strong children in a time when the future of the Human Race was in doubt.

Other Greenland communities – whether they called themselves clans or not – had taken this path. Some had stayed with the old ways. Some operated somewhere in between, often with the help of Clan Kyst’s breeding males.

Belle knew that Bran had fathered many healthy children, of course. Breeding itself was kept generally private. But the birth of a new, healthy child was celebrated, as was the parentage.

Belle knew that Bran had fathered at least a dozen children. Annie was his only Clan Kyst child. More than that, though, she was more than just his afkom, his offspring. She was his daughter.

Bran had married Annie’s mother, Nina, and begun a family with her. Honestly, Annie had been a surprise. Nina had had twelve arranged breedings over six years without a single conception. She'd been written off as a breeder, something that had been disappointing to Nina and others as well.

Bran had fallen in love with Nina and married her despite her shortcomings, as villagers such as Tyka had called it. Ironically, Nina birthed Annie just two years into the marriage. Annie was considered by many as a miracle. Others considered Bran the miracle, with plenty of lewd jokes having been told about his seed.

After Belle tempted him with what his daughter had said about the stranger, Bran told her about fathering her child, “It would be my honor, Belle.”

She smiled wide, telling him without any sense of embarrassment, “Annie thinks the stranger might have a big cock.”

She laughed loudly enough to gain the attention of the other two guards. She waved them to go back to their own conversation. She stood, looking down to Bran with a wide devilish smirk. She wanted to ask him if he had a large penis, too, but couldn't bring herself to say the words.

“I have to pee,” she did say, suddenly rushing off into the darkness as she told Bran over her shoulder, “My replacement is due soon. Cover for me!”

She probably should have returned, but she wouldn't. It had been Bran’s order to post guards on the quarantine hut all night, so in Belle's opinion, he could share some of the responsibility.

“Annie thinks the stranger might have a big cock.”

Belle laughed, leading Bran to do the same. His laugh was less about her lewd statement and more about the idea that his daughter had said such a thing.

Belle disappeared into the darkness, leaving Bran wondering whether she would even return. She didn't, and eventually another male villager arrived to take his watch over the stranger.

Bran returned home, finding Annie soundly asleep in her bed. He looked down on her with pride for a long time, the light of a single candle flickering on her face.

Her birth had been a miracle, yes, but Annie had been a marvel in so many other ways after that, things that were of her own doing, not her parents’. She was smart, beautiful, athletic, loyal, loving; she was everything Bran could have wanted in a child.

Soon, he thought to himself, she'd be having children of her own. Bran thought again about the stranger, King. Bran hoped the man would turn out to be healthy in every way, of course. He would certainly have knowledge of the outside world that the Elder Council would find of interest.

Beyond that, though, Clan Kyst would look at the stranger as a wonderful source of new blood, an increase in their genetic diversity.

Annie would be of age soon, of course. Would Bran want to see this stranger put a child inside his own daughter? If he had a choice, no man would ever defile his little girl. But that wasn't his choice, nor was it realistic.

Bran turned away from his daughter's bedroom to finish some chores before heading for his own bed. Undressed, Bran found his cock again more hard than not, and he considered finding satisfaction alone, as – unknown to him – Annie had before she, too, went to sleep.

But he resisted, wanting to save himself for his coupling with Belle. Now that she'd chosen him to father her child, they only had to wait for her to enter her moon, which could come in weeks, days, or even tomorrow.

Because she was a virgin, it was incumbent on him to refrain from sexual activity prior to their coupling. The act of intercourse for a pure woman could be painful, so limiting the trauma of intercourse by limiting the duration of it was stressed by the Matchmaker. Bran would show Belle the respect she deserved by leaving his cock alone and lonely until he had successfully seeded her.

(OOC: For anyone reading along, Annie’s father, Bran, is a shared character. My turn to write him. :) )

The next morning:

Bran exited his and Annie’s hut and took a short walk up the rise to the east. The hillock hid the village from the sea, a decision that had been made generations earlier for security reasons. Bran often wished his ancestors – the original Elders – had placed the village within sight of the ocean. He loved the view of the vast sea.

The sun was just rising as he arrived. Unsurprisingly, he found his daughter already here in what he knew to be her favorite place in the world. A few steps to the right was a stone, engraved to mark it as her mother's final resting place.

Bran’s wife, Emma, had died during childbirth, as had her seriously premature child, a daughter who would have been Annie’s only true sibling (meaning Bran had been the father, not some other breeder). Bran had never considered remarrying; he'd dedicated himself to the upbringing of Annie, who'd been only six years old at the time.

“Are you going to see the stranger?” she immediately asked upon seeing her father coming. “Can I come?”

“No,” he answered softly as he knelt to tip her head back and kiss her forehead, a typical greeting between the two. He could see the disappointment in her expression but ignored it. “Some of the Elders and I are going to take a walk with him. There are things to be discussed.”

He kissed her a second time, rose, and said as a consolation, “Get your traps checked, and–”

“Already checked them, Papa,” she cut him off. Jumping to her feet, Annie, asked with excitement, “So, can I go?”

Bran couldn't help but laugh at his daughter's enthusiasm. He gestured her into his arms, gave her a long, tight hug – she murmured into his chest, “Can't breath” – then released her and compromised, “You can walk with me down to the stones, but you stop there.”

She agreed, and they headed down the hillock, then down the shore trail. Some of the Elders, as well as some younger men and fewer women – all armed with spears or bows – were already gathered; others would soon descend the trail, too.

The stones about which Bran had spoken were stone cairns – small in height, just 3 feet high – that encircled the quarantine hut to indicate a safe isolation distance. The others were gathered there, waiting.

Bran was the first Elder to have dealt with the stranger; the newest of the villagers to join the Elders Council; the youngest of the current Elders, which sounded like a contradictory oxymoron; and the most prolific breeder of the bunch of them, something that was publically praised as worthy of great respect and privately the source of teasing barbs about Bran being a man-slut.

With the exception of the latter, those traits were the reason for the Council choosing Bran to be their liaison between the ruling organization and King. He'd accepted the responsibility without question, of course, as he had lots of questions to ask of the stranger, as well as statements to be stressed regarding the man's stay here, if King was allowed one.

After a lengthy discussion with the Elders, Bran moved to stand with a pair of guards on the door side of the quarantine hut. They told him that King had been awake for some time, asking for food and answers regarding his fate.

“Mister King, you may come out,” Bran called after excusing the two guards. When the man exited the hut, Bran showed him a basket, explaining, “Food, water for drinking and washing up if you need … and some mate.”

The last item mentioned was pronounced mah-tay. Not knowing whether or not King knew what it was, Bran explained, “It's a hot caffeinated drink, a tea of sorts. You won't like it–”

Bran smiled and chuckled softly, adding, “--but it grows on you. I have some sweetener, too. We trade dried and smoked fish and things made of sea shells and the like with a village located inland … over the range.”

He nodded his head toward the steep mountain range that ran north-northeast to south-southwest for as far as the eye could see. Some of the peaks were over 2,000 meters high and were impassable, but there was a pass that led northwest through them that, while still a hard walk, was used by the people of this village and others inland to conduct trade and arranged breeding as well.

“Why don't you take a walk with me, Mister King,” Bran offered, already turning toward the trail leading back to the beach. “We have many things to discuss. I hope you won't find me unfriendly if I ask you to maintain your distance and walk downwind of me when possible. I promise not to fart into the wind.”

They descended the trail to the beach, where Bran set the basket on a squat, flat topped boulder. He positioned himself upwind and said, “Please, eat. One of the Elder’s wife is quite the cook. There's bread, meat, cheese, fruit. Goats milk. The mate, as I said, it should still be warm at least. It's the only caffeine drink left in our little part of the world, to the best of our knowledge.”

Bran paused, becoming a bit more serious sounding as he continued, “Speaking of knowledge...”

He waited until he had King's attention before beginning his inquiries. “What can you tell me about what's happening out there in the world? First, where did you come from? My daughter said something of Newfoundland. Is that where you are from?”

He paused for an answer, then continued, asking about the Bug and the wars that had nearly wiped out the Human Race. He wanted to know how many people had survived, whether or not Human population was rebounding, whether or not technology was doing the same, and more.

Lastly, and with a serious tone, Bran asked bluntly, “Should we worry that – like you – they will be coming here, too? I mean no offense, but … honestly … we're happy with the way things are now. We have no desire to once again be part of that world out there.”

“Mister King," a familiar voice called from beyond the quarantine hut's door, "you may come out.”

Thank god, King thought as he quickly pulled the door open and stepped out into the morning sun. He took a deep breath of air, fresh with a hint of sea salt in it. He complained, "It stinks in there. I got used to it yesterday, mostly by falling asleep. But as soon as you wake up, it's back."

The man who'd dealt with him the most the day before flashed a basket, telling him of its contents. Bran spoke of mate, which King indeed had not heard of before, saying, “It's a hot caffeinated drink, a tea of sorts. You won't like it ... but it grows on you."

"As long as it's caffeine, I'm happy," King said. In Newfoundland, they'd had a caffeinated drink made of mushrooms, originally found in the wild but these days grown in greenhouses, specifically for their caffeine content, though, they did have other uses as well. It had a nasty taste that required a great deal of honey sweetener. King had never had coffee, which a lot of people back during the day had said tasted nasty without additives, too. If he had had coffee, he would have considered it less objectionable than the mushroom substitute.

"I have some sweetener, too," Bran continued. "We trade dried and smoked fish and things made of seashells and the like with a village located inland … over the range.”

King followed Bran's nod toward the mountain range behind them. Bran was fairly well educated in world geography, and he probably could have named this range off the top of his head if he had any idea where he was. He suspected by the vastness of the shoreline and range that he was in Greenland. If he asked Bran to confirm that, would the man do so? King had a sense that the villagers preferred their isolation, something Bran would confirm later in this morning's conversation.

Bran suggested that the two of them take a walk. Stepping away from the quarantine hut, King got his first look at the gathering of people a bit farther up the hill. He was surprised at the vast number of them: men and women, old and young, casually dressed for labor and more formally dressed for, he presumed, official duties that related to the arrival of a stranger from a distant land.

And there was Annie. King couldn't help but smile to the young beauty, recalling their exchange the day before when she'd discovered him passed out on the shore. She seemed to be as excited to see King as he was to see her. That excitement was dampened a bit when King Annie's protector, the man named Paul, stepped out of the crowd and in front of the girl he obviously considered his own.

When Bran joked about not farting into the wind, King couldn't help but laugh. "As badly as I smell, I doubt I'd smell you, sir." King reeked not just of human odor but of the sea in which he'd been lost for what he assumed had been two, maybe three days.

King dug eagerly into the basket of food, marveling at the offerings. There was fresh baked bread that was still warm; sliced meat, both freshly cooked and jerked; cheese and goats milk, the former presumably made from the latter; and berries, some of which he was familiar with and others of which he'd never seen before. He offered some to Bran, getting a polite wave, as he would have expected because of the whole quarantine thing.

The mate was, like the mushroom drink, kind of nasty. King added the sweetener, which turned out to be dried cubes of honey, something he'd never seen done to the bee produced sweetener before. It made the drink palatable, but only barely so. Still, it was caffeine, and he needed it badly. King told Bran about the mushroom drink, adding, "It's caffeine, but it's gross, too."

“Speaking of knowledge,” Bran said with a serious tone, “What can you tell me about what's happening out there in the world?"

King had expected this, of course. In the villagers' eyes, he was a stranger from a strange land. Bran continued, "First, where did you come from? My daughter said something of Newfoundland. Is that where you are from?”

"It's not where I'm from," King said, "but ... it is where I came from."

His answer was rather cryptic, King knew. He clarified, "I travel a lot. My last location was Newfoundland, a coastal settlement called New Eastport."

After global warming had reached its extreme and melted what was left of the world's ice caps, glaciers, and snow fields, a lot of New settlements, villages, and towns appeared. The old communities had disappeared as sea levels rose around the world.

"I stayed there about a year," King continued. "Nice people. Safe community. They fished and grew terraced crops. Before that, I was farther south: Nova Scotia, New England, the Carolines, New Mephis."

King didn't explain that New Memphis, Tennessee, was now a coastal city. Rising ocean levels had driven the Gulf of Mexico north up the Mississippi until Old Mephis had disappeared, first into the Mississippi River itself and then -- after continually rebuilding on higher and higher ground -- into the waters of the unrelenting and expanding Gulf.

"The Bug," King mused softly. "It's still out there, unfortunately. It pops up once in a while. There's good news, though. Most of the survivors today have a partial or full immunity to it. When it does appear, it doesn't normally take many lives, if any at all. At least ... that's been my experience. I've heard stories about entire communities dying, likely from a variant of the Bug. I know this will sound contradictory, but ... the increased lethality of it is actually a good thing. It means that it kills the carriers off before they have a chance to spread it to other communities.

"As far as the wars go," King continued, "those are over. There are still troublemakers out there, of course ... people who would rather take from others rather than work hard themselves. Militias. But they're few and far between.

"As far as population, it's rebounding but slowly," he said between bites of breakfast. "Communities don't get very big, though. Large towns lead to large problems. The old world diseases that had been eradicated by vaccines returned. Measles, chicken pox, even the black plague. They run through communities, killing as much as thirty or forty percent of the people before waning.

"There's a lot of land out there to live in," King said, finishing the mate with a grimace. "Once a community starts getting bigger ... once rivalries and discontent rise ... people just leave ... migrate, emigrate, whatever you want to call it. Rebuild somewhere else."

“Should we worry that – like you – they will be coming here, too?" Bran asked bluntly. "I mean no offense, but … honestly … we're happy with the way things are now. We have no desire to once again be part of that world out there.”

"You shouldn't worry," King said. "I only got here because my ship got caught in a storm and broke up." He looked around, venturing, "I'm assuming I'm in Greenland, right? It wasn't my destination at all. I was trying to get to Ireland ... England maybe."

"As badly as I smell," the stranger said, "I doubt I'd smell you, sir."

Bran had to laugh at the man's self-deprecating comment. "I'll make a tub and some water made available for you. And a kettle for heating it, of course."

As he ate, King spoke of the places he'd previously lived -- visited, really. Bran knew of Newfoundland, though not specifically of the settlement of New Eastport. Nova Scotia and New England were also familiar names. He'd heard of North Carolina and South Carolina, so he safely assumed that the Carolines were the same general area.

New Memphis was unknown to him entirely, though. Bran knew of the Mississippi River, but as King hadn't mentioned it in particular, he didn't understand that the mighty river that had once divided the eastern and western portions of the United States -- also a familiar term -- was now a wide, inland-reaching bay.

"The Bug," King continued, "It's still out there, unfortunately. It pops up once in a while."

He talked about how it was less frequently found yet also more deadly when it was. This news only made Bran more convinced that keeping King in quarantine had been the right thing to do. He and the Elders would have to decide whether the news that the Bug was quicker to appear would mean less time in quarantine for the stranger.

"As far as the wars go," King continued, "those are over."

Bran wasn't sad to hear this news. It hadn't just been an apocalyptic pandemic that had doomed Humanity; ever-increasing global warming and nuclear war had struck as well. To hear that peace was more common now than conflict was a relief.

King spoke of how Human population was rebounding but also spreading out into areas that had been depleted by the ravages of the Bug. This Bran didn't care for. Even though King told him that Greenland was likely safe from infestation by emigrating populations, Bran couldn't help but think to himself, Well, if YOU got here, others can, too.

When the newly arrived stranger spoke of trying to reach Ireland or even England, Bran asked, "Is that still your destination. I mean ... if you wish to leave, I can speak to the Council about it. We didn't lock you up in the quarantine hut because you're a prisoner. We did it to keep our village safe."

Bran wasn't entirely certain which answer he wanted to hear from King: stay or leave. Taking one more person into the community would not present any sort of hardship, particularly if he was healthy, fertile, knowledgeable, and hard working. Bran suspected that Tyka the Matchmaker was already going over her breeding rolls for the best candidates to be seeded by an entirely new bloodline. And it seemed pretty obvious to Bran that his own daughter had eyes for the man from afar.

At the same time, though, King had every right to depart the island and continue his venture to reach what had once been called the British Isles. Of course, the village would have to construct an appropriate vessel for him, as their current boats were only made for fishing in the waters just off the shore.

Not wanting King to think that he had an agenda aimed at getting him the hell off his island, Bran clarified, "If you do decide you want to remain here for a while, you'll just have to continue your quarantine until the Council feels it's safe for you to exit it and mix with the rest of the village. It's your decision."

King was tickled to hear Bran talk about providing a way to clean up, not having had a bath since before the ship sailed from New Eastport. He was also happy to hear that he was being given the opportunity to stick around here for a while.

"I'm a wanderer, with the philosophy that it's the journey, not the destination that's important," he told Bran. "I like to visit new places, learn about them ... about their people. If this Council about which you speak would allow me to remain for a while, I'd like that.

"I believe in earning my keep, though," he continued. "Right now, in quarantine, I'm not doing that. If there's something I can do during my isolation, please, tell me. I can ... I dunno, fish...? Cut firewood? Clean out the shit pit ... whatever you need done that I can do in isolation ... to keep your people safe until you decide that I'm not a danger."

Whatever Bran selected for him to do, King secretly hoped it would involve the beautiful villager, Annie. He also hoped it wouldn't involve that asshole, Paul. That man had a serious bone up his ass for King.