Creative Writing: The Chimaera's Island

The Chimaera’s Island
I was on my ship, looking at a map trying to determine which direction we should head, to reach land, but suddenly some of my men barged open the door to my study. “Odysseus”, one of my men shouted to gain my attention. “When will we be home?”
I had no clue when we would be home and I was in no position to lie to my crew. I looked up from the many maps scattering the large desk and said, “My men, I will not lie to those few who have survived with me. I have looked at many of the maps we have on board and without an island we know, there is no way to tell which direction is the best. Without the Gods helping us, the best way to travel is to hope for the best and wait to hit land or for the Gods to intervene.”
“We have been
For the first three nights everything was calm and peaceful. The beach was a mix of white and black sand, so fine that the Gods must have laid it here themselves, along with every tree in the jungle, that loomed over the fire I sat by at night. A short walk from where I landed was a high cliff, the only high point on the island, where the freshest water fell into a bed of glass, and created little ripples throughout the pond. The waterfall was where all the other animals seemed to go to refresh, sharing the only fresh water I could
They rushed closer as they saw the Chimaera lying dead with the other two heads close by. The people smiled and cheered, they came rushing toward me, realizing I was the one who destroyed the beast. It was hard to understand the men and women, who did not speak often. They led me back to the little town they made on the opposite side of the waterfall. I was led to a hut on the edge of town, where there were rows of different color flowers and leaves. An old man was tending to the plants, and without even looking up he walked down one of the rows and pulled these blue leaves off one plant and an orange flower off another. The man walked past me and started mashing them together until it formed a thick paste. He walked up to me and took my injured arm and started rubbing the mix on the punctured arm.
“This should stop the venom from spreading and draw it out,” these were the first coherent words I heard come out of any of the islanders mouths. After a few seconds the pain started to dull and my arm became numb. “The islanders will start building a raft after the celebration of you killing our greatest enemy, the Chimaera.” I sat there in silence, exhausted and drained from the battle. The old man led me to a bed after he was done tending to the