It felt as if everything churning inside me these past days was slowly settling — like the sea calming after a storm.

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Ded also got his share — a generous portion placed right under the table — and he ate with all the dignity of a seasoned sailor back from a long voyage.

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After dinner, Louise came up to me, smiling: — Well then, my little prince, it's time to begin your lessons.

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We sat on the warm sand under a canopy of stars.

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Louise picked up a thin stick and started drawing letters carefully: Toma Makea I traced the letters after her, slowly, carefully, my tongue sticking out in concentration.

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Then she showed me a few simple French words: "ami" — friend, "chien" — dog, "mer" — sea.

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Ded dozed next to us, his leash neatly coiled by his side.

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The sound of the ocean was like a deep, steady breath all around us.

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When it grew darker, Louise stood and held out her hand: — Come, little prince, I promised you a story.

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We went to my small tent.

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Louise sat on the mat; I lay down on top of my sleeping bag, with Ded curling up right by the entrance, as if keeping guard.

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Louise began to tell the story — quietly, almost whispering.

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About the boy who lived on a tiny planet.

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My Grandfather is a Giant Schnauzer

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This sentence has been marked as perfect!

Chapter Six – Adoption “Oh no, it’s almost lunchtime, and we still haven’t really had breakfast!

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This sentence has been marked as perfect!

Just quick snacks — fruit, cookies, chocolate,” exclaimed Arina, suddenly remembering.

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This sentence has been marked as perfect!

Louise shot her a dry glance over the rim of her glasses, as if to say: leaving a child in the care of such a "thoughtful assistant" was risky business.

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I hadn’t even noticed how I gulped down an apple that morning, clinging to my thoughts of sketching — so eager was I to help Arina.

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At that moment, Ded gave a loud snort, as if to confirm the accusation, and began scratching his ear with his hind leg in a way that clearly said: “I may just be a dog, but I understand everything.” “All right,” Louise said with a smile.

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“You two go have breakfast… or rather, lunch.

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And I’ll go figure out the procedure for temporary adoption.” She leaned down to speak to me at eye level.

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“Toma, if you’re willing to let me handle your affairs, then you must trust me with something even more important.

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I’ll become your official guardian.

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No objections?” I shook my head energetically.

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Inside, something unfolded — like a sail catching the wind.

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Ded gave a pleased little huff, then, remembering his "role," went back to scratching his ear.

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As we approached the makeshift kitchen set up hastily at the edge of the beach, we heard a rumbling voice.

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Thierry Roche, the ship’s cook and the camp’s guardian of appetites, stood by a large pot from which wafted the smells of spices, fish, and rice.

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His apron was worn and stained in places — the mark of someone who worked hard and didn’t fuss over appearances.

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Beside him, neatly rolled up on the table, was a knife roll — practical and sharp, just as a proper cook should keep it.

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“You can’t feed a growing boy crumbs and chocolate!” Thierry grumbled, lifting the pot’s lid and giving Louise a stern look.

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“Real food first — sweets later!” Under a light canvas awning stood a long table made from bleached boards.

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The aromas of stewed fish with herbs, seasoned rice, and roasted fruits stirred my appetite, making my stomach rumble traitorously.

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Ded quietly settled under the table, stretching out his paws just enough to bump my leg if the food was unfairly distributed.

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Next to me, Arina, head bent, was already sketching quickly in her notebook — boats, sandy alleys, the wrinkled faces of fishermen — capturing every detail of our island.

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Thierry watched over me like a seasoned boatswain overseeing a new recruit in the galley.

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“Now that’s a proper meal,” he declared with satisfaction as I wiped my plate clean with a piece of bread.

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He set a bowl of fresh fruit slices in front of me, and then, without a word, slipped another, smaller bowl under the table — filled generously with fish and rice for Ded.

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Ded lifted his head, gazed up at him respectfully, and began eating with the dignity of a well-mannered dog.

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Thierry gave us both an approving nod, smoothed his apron, and muttered: “From each according to his needs.” Louise chuckled softly: “Look at you — turning into a little communist?” Arina giggled behind her sketchbook.

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Thierry just waved his hand dismissively: “Spent a few summers at Artek camp when I was a kid.

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Justice runs deep.” And with that, he returned to his pot.

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When I finished eating, Louise quietly motioned for me to come aside.

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“We’re flying to Nassau today,” she said, crouching down beside me.

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Her eyes were serious, but a smile flickered at their corners.

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“Everything’s arranged.

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We just need to pack and be ready.” I nodded.

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Somewhere deep inside, an invisible string trembled at her words.

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Until now, everything around me had felt like a dream.

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Suddenly, the world became very real.

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Ded nudged my hand with his nose, as if to say: "Don’t worry.

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We’re in this together."

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When the others heard about the trip, we quickly gathered companions.

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Elen and Maren asked to join, and with permission granted, Maren hurried off to prepare.

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He approached Ded, gave him a critical look, and said: “He’ll need a collar.

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They won’t let a dog into the hotels otherwise.” Bruno Clément, standing nearby, frowned.

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“They might not allow you inside.

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Maybe better to leave the dog with me here on the island?” Something twisted painfully inside me.

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I pulled Ded closer, feeling his warm fur against my skin.

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Ded stayed silent, but his gaze said everything.

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Maren noticed and thought for a moment.

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Then he snapped his fingers brightly: “No way.

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He’s coming with us.

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We’ll make a collar ourselves!

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I have a spare belt in my backpack.” He unbuckled his woven leather belt, studied it like a craftsman, and added: “This will make a perfect collar.

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And the leftovers — we’ll braid into a leash.” Activity burst into life by the camp kitchen.

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Someone fetched a knife, someone else a sturdy carabiner from old gear.

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Someone found a broken fishing rod ring — perfect for securing the carabiner to the leash.

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Maren, face focused, carefully cut the belt, deftly unraveling strips and weaving them into a tight braid.

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People bustled around, offering advice, cracking jokes — like a real ship’s crew before a voyage.

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Ded lay absolutely still, patient and dignified.

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He understood perfectly: this was for him.

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An hour later, the collar and leash were ready.

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Captain Branc himself tested their strength, pulling hard in both directions.

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“Solid,” he said with a nod, clapping Maren on the shoulder.

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“A true sea dog,” Maren said proudly, fastening the leash.

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Ded barked once, short and approving, as if to say: Now I’m a real wolf!

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When the preparations were complete, Jean-Luc Forger was already inspecting the seaplane — an old De Havilland Beaver, a true classic of tropical air routes.

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His sunglasses caught flashes of sunlight as he hummed a lively tune under his breath, short and stocky like a cheerful old sailor.

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"Bienvenue à bord, young sailors!"

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he shouted, waving to us from the pontoon.

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He must have been nearing fifty, while Louise was only thirty-eight.

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Maybe that's why he felt free to call all of us "young."

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Louise made a joke about it, and I smiled.

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We took our seats.

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Jean-Luc at the controls, Arina with her sketchbook beside him.

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I sat directly behind the pilot, by the window on the left.

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Louise sat next to me.

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Behind us, Maren and Elen squeezed into the back row.

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Ded sprawled out across the floor, neatly tucking his muzzle under my sneakers.

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When everyone was settled, the engine roared to life.

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The seaplane slowly backed away from the shore, lazily slicing the water, then turned sharply, gaining speed across the waves — and with a sudden, smooth lift, we were airborne.

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I was pressed into my seat, my heart dropping somewhere into my shoes.

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The noise was so overwhelming that Jean-Luc shouted something over his shoulder, but his words drowned in the roar of the engines.

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We could only guess by his gestures.

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Below us, the ocean opened wide — an endless shimmering blue.

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Far away, silver patches sparkled — shoals of fish churning the surface.

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I sat silently, drinking in every curve of the waves, every glint of sunlight on the water.

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At first, the sea below was clear and bright, but the farther we flew, the darker the surface became.

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Then, patches of sargassum appeared — thick golden weeds floating like sleepy continents.

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And behind them came dirty green and brown stains.

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At first, I thought: jellyfish?

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But no — looking closer, I realized: these were islands of garbage.

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Plastic bags, torn nets, rusted barrels — drifting, poisoning the sea.

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I gripped the seatbelt tighter.

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Somewhere down there, the ocean was dying.

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And it was us — humans — killing it.

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Arina, sitting ahead, flipped open her notebook and started sketching again — even here, even through the noise and shaking.

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Louise quietly placed her hand on my shoulder.

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Across the aisle, Elen leaned toward Maren, whispering something into his ear.

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He blushed furiously and mumbled back.

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They didn’t care about the view outside the window — they were wrapped up in their own world.

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I noticed it and smiled to myself.

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After about two hours of flying, a huge city rose on the horizon.

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At first it looked like a scattering of golden beads gleaming against the blue.

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Then houses with brightly painted roofs came into focus, and white piers, and tiny ships clustered by the docks.

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The seaplane touched the water with a soft, gliding thump — like a giant seabird.

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We skimmed toward the dock, and the engines fell silent, leaving only the soft slosh of waves and the distant murmur of the city.

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Evening Nassau greeted us with a hot, humid wind scented with mango, salt, and fried bananas.

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On the waterfront, strings of lights blinked between the buildings.

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Somewhere down the alleys, reggae music bounced through the air.

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The smells of spicy food, exhaust, and blooming flowers mingled around us.

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I walked behind Louise, holding Ded's leash.

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He marched proudly by my side, like a sailor on shore leave.

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Ahead of us, Maren and Elen laughed together.

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Elen shoved a cup of fruit ice into Maren's hand, and he, flustered, nearly dropped it.

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He turned bright red and muttered something, while Elen just giggled and wiped his sticky fingers with a napkin.

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Louise kept offering me sweets from street vendors, but I politely refused.

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I wasn’t hungry — I was busy drinking in every piece of this new world with my eyes.

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The lights from the lanterns shimmered in puddles along the cobbled streets.

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Old men smoked pipes outside shop doors.

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Children chased scraps of plastic bottles, kicking them like footballs.

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The city was noisy, dazzling, and completely unlike anything I had ever known.

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It was a living fairy tale — the kind Ded used to tell me, and now, here I was inside it.

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In the morning, after a hearty breakfast, we headed to the consulate.

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Jean-Luc was already waiting for us by the entrance — he had arranged for a car so we could quickly take care of everything.

---

Far from his beloved plane, he looked a little lost and kept glancing at the sky.

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The consulate building, white with a proud French coat of arms, looked strict and a little sleepy.

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Louise filled out the documents meticulously.

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I was asked to press my finger onto a sheet of paper and then stand still while they took a photo.

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— Welcome aboard, little prince, — the consul said with a warm smile.

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We left the consulate right after, making our way back toward our seaplane.

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As we drove through the streets of Nassau, I pressed my forehead against the car window and soaked everything in with hungry eyes.

---

In the morning light, Nassau was even brighter, bustling with life.

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Vendors were laying out baskets of fruit along the sidewalks, women in colorful dresses laughed and called out to each other, children raced around with homemade toys, weaving between stalls.

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The city seemed even more magical now — busy, alive, full of unknown stories.

---

The flight back was nothing like the first one.

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When we lifted off the water, the roar of the engines no longer seemed so frightening — it even felt a little softer, like an old song that no longer scared me.

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I sat by the window, watching the endless ocean unfold below in all its shades of blue and green.

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It felt as though the tension that had built up inside me over these past days was slowly melting away.

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— Louise, — I asked, — why did the consul call me the Little Prince?

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She smiled and brushed a lock of hair from her forehead.

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— I think he remembered a beautiful story when he saw you and your Ded — she said softly.

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— The heart of that story is simple: We are responsible for those we have tamed.

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— Oh!

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— I leaned closer.

---

— Could you tell me that story?

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I haven't heard any tales for so long.

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Louise nodded, and for a moment, her smile trembled — two tears rolled down her cheeks.

---

— These are good tears, — she said, wiping them away.

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— And yes, I’ll tell you.

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But first... do you know how to play games?

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Want me to teach you one I loved when I was your age?

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I nodded eagerly.

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So Louise taught me a game called Qui perd, gagne — "He who loses, wins."

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If you made a mistake, you had to invent a funny challenge for the others.

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It wasn't about being right — it was about making everyone laugh.

---

We played and laughed until our stomachs hurt.

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Sometimes Maren and Hélène joined in too — though most of the time, they were too busy being secretly in love, holding hands and thinking no one noticed.

---

But I did notice, and smiled quietly to myself.

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In the cockpit, Arina kept sketching endlessly, her pages flipping in the breeze.

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Through the window, I watched the ocean change again — the blue growing lighter, the waters sparkling as we neared home.

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When we finally touched down near the island, I could see familiar faces waving from the shore.

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Cécile Angers, Captain Branc, Jean-Marc Lecroix — all waiting for us.

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I stepped onto the sand and felt the ground cling to my soles, as if the island itself, once touched by loss, was afraid to let me go again.

---

At the camp, we were welcomed with laughter and the delicious smells of dinner.

---

Thierry Roche, armed with his ladle like a knight with a sword, had prepared a real feast: stewed fish, rice cooked with spices, roasted fruits that smelled of honey and salt.

---

I ate in silence, savoring every bite.

---

About the rose he loved.

---

About the travelers he met while searching for a way home.

---

And about the Fox, who taught him the most important thing: "You become responsible, forever, for what you have tamed."

---

I listened without blinking.

---

The gentle rustle of the wind against the tent walls blended with her voice, and it felt like the night itself was telling me this story.

---

When she finished, Louise brushed my hair lightly and said: — I will find that book for you.

---

I promise.

---

Without thinking, I sat up and threw my arms around her neck, hugging her tight.

---

— Thank you, Louise, — I whispered.

---

She froze for a heartbeat, then hugged me back and kissed me on the cheek.

---

— Good night, my little prince, — she said.

---

I lay back down, feeling my eyes close, heavy with happiness and peace.

---

Outside, the sea whispered and breathed.

---

And I fell asleep, knowing: My new life was beginning.

---

And this time, I had someone waiting for me.

---

As for Ded?

---

He hadn't gone anywhere.

---

He had simply become a dog.

---

And honestly — I think he liked it better this way.

---

No more aching back, no sore knees, no complaints — just the simple joy of lying on warm sand and listening to the waves.

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To be continued...

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