Blogtober 2022 Day 12 entry
The water at the pier was so shallow that the Beaumaris’ keel scraped the sand, but the island’s crew of dockhands had no trouble securing the ship in dock. Their work completed, they gave way to a group of more than 20 people who approached the ship.
“Should we lower the gangplank?” Rhys asked.
“I don’t see any weapons,” Eila said, “and we are the visitors, so let’s be hospitable.”
Her crew set the gangplank down, and the islanders formed a semicircle around it. They were clearly a welcoming party.
Eila descended the ramp alone. None of the islanders stepped forward as the leader, though they were all smiling, and no one projected an air of hostility.
“Hello,” she said, which sounded the same in Welsh and English. No reaction. “Bonjour. Hola. Ciao. ’Ahlan.”
A woman stepped forward and said in English, “Which of these languages do you prefer?” Eila guessed she was in her thirties; she reminded her of one of her older sisters. She was tall with brown hair and brown eyes.
“I’m Welsh,” Eila said. “Our kingdom is called Llanfyllin. We are neighbors and allies with England and Scotland.”
“Then we will be pleased to converse in your native language,” the woman said, her Welsh flawless. “I am Adriana, and I welcome you to our home.”
“Are you the leader?” Eila asked.
“We have no leaders,” Adriana said. “We cooperate in harmony for the greater good.”
“What is this place called?”
“The world remembers us as Atlantis.”
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