The islander arrived late in the evening, carrying a dead rodent of some sort. He did not look like the mental image Ted had fabricated at all, with his pleasant and a bit meek features, and his embroidered jacket that was a bit too wide for him. He was the kind of slender fellow with a whole lot of height and only a barely noticeable amount of shoulder width. It was rather obvious that he had not been eating too well lately, despite his fancy clothing.
Perhaps he had slimmed down and those were his own old clothes, but that, too, seemed less likely than just plain theft of a really nice jacket.
He did not look at the crew aggressively. His face contorted in a frown of sheer worry, instead, and he hurried across the sand to greet the newcomers.
"You really should not be here," he said. "I am Tomjohn of the Island, I govern this land. Who are you people and what calamity have you faced?"
