As the first sliver of the sun could be seen on the horizon, the wildlife of the island came awake, excited to greet the day with their calls. The sky was almost clear save for a few plump, cotton-ball clouds drifting along on the same gentle breeze that was brushing through the trees. The air was growing warmer, but still had the pleasant, clean smell of the rain.
If Ilona had been nearly anywhere else on the island and had not been through the night she had just been through, she might have thought it was a beautiful morning. Because of where she was and what had happened, however, she couldn't help but think how strangely disconnected this morning was from its night. The night had been made up of storms and anger and death. The morning seemed to be made of sunshine, hope, and life.
