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?Liz could hear excited giggles and suddenly tiny heads appeared peering down at her as she lay freezing in the back of the sled. She stared in bewilderment and fully formed people the size of children watched her silently with mischief in their eyes. ?Oh now, back. This is for Santa, his reward for another year’s good service. Back now. She may be naughty but there’s no reason scare the dear thing. She’ll be plenty scared soon.? As Santa leaned over and started lifting Liz out of the sled the elves scattered about. ?Got to get this cute damsel to my wife.? Liz was forced to her feet. The cold snow on her soles burned. ?Come now my dear; let’s get you some place warm. To Mrs. Claus and her kitchen.? Liz still didn’t have her voice. Tears ran down the side of her face as she walked completely exposed towards a log cabin with a smoking chimney. The Elves giggled and pranced around her. She felt the guiding hand of Santa gently pushing her towards the cabin. Liz was. She could breathe as deeply as she wanted, and was rewarded with the thin, pristine clean air of the island. The sun did not come up yet, and all was dark, cool and afresh with dewy droplets and overall wet lushness about the entire island. The island was simple and was more like a fisherman’s village and less like a tourist spot. In reality it was crawling with foreigners, but the island charmingly managed to sidestep the garishness and consumer-friendly ugliness that usually dogged such areas. Indeed, the island was not affected by the onslaught of beach chalets and huts, rather the tourism scene was absorbed into the simplicity of beach living and everything became rusticated instead as if by force of nature. There was no gaudiness of color and structure but a washed-up, beached look in everywhere Fawn looked. The colors of the plants, flowers, sand and sky, however, stood out glaringly in their intensity of color in contrast to the faded wood. The air was salty and clung to.
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