Whatever tincture was in those little red bottles really did help Katerin keep her composure. She was able to work, sweat, eat, and sleep right alongside everyone else on the Mynyrri. It had been a tenday on the water and it seemed everyone was finally adjusting.

What a stupid idea, she thought as she looked across the pale wooden deck of the ship. She might be able to function, but she still got dizzy and queasy more often than not. The dwarves noticed, and did not hesitate to make jokes at her expense.

Jon, Fykes, Brazen, and Arjiah took to the water easily. Trunk seemed perfectly content, and spent most of his time with the ships wind-warder Moki. They worked on keeping the weather pleasant, and the wind in a favorable direction.

Magrum was wary, but ever attentive. If he spoke, every person aboard jumped to comply. Katerin supposed that the respect he had was well earned. His crew never doubted him, and from their words, Magrum was quite well-known.

Dinners were an amusing affair full of stories that Katerin still was not sure if she could wholeheartedly believe. The Meadalark did not sail sober. In fact, Katerin did not think they did anything sober.

The sun had finally stopped burning Katerin's delicate complexion to a crisp, and the red was now darkening into a tan. Maybe the first decent one she had ever had. Unlike Fykes, who spent nearly every second he could on the ship without a shirt, but still he never burned, and never tanned. The pale porcelain of his skin never wavered. No matter how burnt Katerin got, he stayed enviously pale and burn free.

The Mynyrri was not as large as the merchant ship she had been on before, but it had plenty of work to offer them. No day was spent simply bathing in the sun. Today Katerin was scrubbing the deck, and checking over various lines and rigging ropes. Making sure every knot was secure and intact. She paused and looked to the rigging on the side of the ship. Fykes and Brazen were both climbing up it, and Jon was shouting at them from the deck.

Jon was capable of climbing himself, but apparently he found it more amusing to razz the others.

Fykes and Brazen reached the top at near the same time. They each checked their section of ropes, and looked to each other. Both grinning wildly they began racing back down, as Katerin watched and Jon hollered.

It was a close thing, their race. Until Brazen simply let go of the ropes and fell the last twelve or so feet to the deck. He landed with grace and dropped into a crouch to absorb the pressure of the blow.

"I won," Brazen called.

Fykes shook his head and dropped to the deck, though he was only a few feet from it. "No. you cheated. And you're still on dish duty."

"But I won," Brazen said.

"Cheaters never prosper," Fykes said with a smile and a shake of his head.

"He did beat you," Jon said, throwing an arm over Brazen's shoulders and looking to Fykes with a stern expression.

Fykes narrowed his eyes, before turning his glance to Brazen. "See? Cheaters never prosper."

That drew a laugh from nearby Arjiah, who was the only one on the ship not asked to do a thing. It seemed the Meadalark had a respect for amerlyians. Even ones they did not know.

Katerin resumed her scrubbing, shaking her head as Fykes and Jon's conversation devolved into a rather childish argument. All the while Brazen stood between them with a blank expression.

Roahn tapped Katerin on the shoulder. "You've been at that awhile, have a drink."

"Thanks," Katerin said, rising from her crouch and stretching her shoulders. She took the water skin from Roahn's hand and took a long drink, before she realized who she was talking to. It was not water, but a very strong clear alcohol that burned bitter in her throat.

Roahn grinned as Katerin coughed. "Your family has got a strange way of getting along," she said, glancing to Fykes and Brazen who were still arguing.

"Well... um," Katerin spluttered.

Roahn's expression shifted to a sort of amused confusion. "You're not? Sorry... you bicker like you are."

"They always have," Arjiah said with a grin as she walked by.

"We're just very close friends." Katerin said.

"I'll say," Roahn replied, one eyebrow raised.

"It's not like that!" Katerin said, her voice too high pitched.

"Then what's it like?" Roahn asked, humor dancing in her eyes, now.

"It's nothing I think we need to discuss," Katerin said, trying to compose herself.

"At least tell me what's going on with that quiet kid of yours," Roahn said.

Katerin frowned, "He's not a child... he's... well he isn't alive, in the normal sense." She paused, gauging Roahn's expression. "He's a construct. But that doesn't mean he is any less our friend."

"Huh," Roahn said, glancing to Brazen. "Does he need to eat?"

"No. Why?" Katerin asked, perturbed. That was never the first question she got, when it came to Brazen.

Roahn leaned in and lowered her voice to a deep rumble. "Because this morning I watched him eat a banana with the skin still on it." She blinked at Katerin, looking almost horrified. "It was disturbing."

Katerin could not hold back her laugh. "I'll talk to him about that." She shook her head. "So what's your family like?"

"Ain't got one to speak of," Roahn replied, turning and walking away. Ending the conversation as abruptly as she had started it.

Katerin watched her leave in bewilderment. It seemed she would only get to know more about Roahn, when Roahn decided to tell it. In the days they had traveled she had not spoken all that much. She joined in every game, and never shied away from her work or anything that was asked of her. But Katerin could swear that the scowl Roahn wore would disappear when she thought no one was looking, and she was curious to meet the woman beneath the tough exterior.

It was no facade. Roahn was tough, and she was strong, and likely she was all the things she wanted to be perceived as, yet Katerin could not help but feel there was something deeper.

That evening the stars shone brightly above the Mynyrri's deck, leaving the mixture of lanterns and magical orbs of light to seem unnecessary. Jon told story after story, conversing with the dwarves, and bickering with Arjiah over the details. Fykes sat not far from him, either calling him out or adding little details to his stories. His stories brought laughter, grimaces. All manner of emotions and reactions.

Suddenly, he felt a shaking in his hands. A chill ran down his spine that turned to a burning pain. It ached like fire up his back, and down his arms. He shook the feeling off as best he could and continued his tale. By the time the story finished, his hands shook violently.

He excused himself from the table, and stood on trembling legs. He made it below the deck, but stumbled as a searing pain bit into his shoulder. He cringed and kept quiet until he found his cot.

The pain felt as if a hot-iron brand was sinking into his skin.

He thumped down onto his cot, and pulled his shirt aside, glancing upon a black, swirling mark. It wrapped around his shoulder and was hot to the touch. He found a mirror, that was most likely Katerin's, and stared at the mark, and the sweat that poured off him with his teeth clenched against the pain.

By my mothers balls, he thought.

Finally the mark stopped moving, and one more searing blast of pain rocked him. This was not any sign of good, he knew. He had hoped leaving would have kept them from finding him.

He really hated being wrong.

He pulled his shirt and coat back over his shoulder, and checked in the mirror to make sure everything was covered. He took several heavy breaths, wiped the sweat from his brow and laid a hand over the burn. He stood and tested his weight, checking again to make sure the mark was covered before climbing back up to the deck. He could not have anyone worrying over him, for now.

Fykes had noticed his departure, and greeted him at the top of the ladder, his hands full of mugs. "You alright? Drink too much?"

"Never," Jon said, with a wink. "Just had to fetch my cards." He pulled the deck out of his coat pocket.

Fykes grinned. "That'll make Katerin's night."

"I'm sure she's looking forward to taking all my coin." Jon smiled as Fykes walked past him, and he turned his gaze to the table, and all the people around it. Cheaters never prosper, he thought, wincing.

Trunk sat in silent meditation, near the bow of the ship. His thoughts and his magic rested on the wind that propelled them forward and he urged it to continue, his thoughts answering its whispers and imploring it to be kind to them.

He did not worry of the waves around him, or the people with their weapons and gruff attitudes, or their lack of appreciation for a good cup of tea. He knew that this journey would prevail, but he did not know why it should. Silly, to think that a group of adventurers like the ones he was surrounded with would walk him happily to where his answers rested. But his goddess had promised that this was where he needed to be.

Did she think so considerately of his goals? Maybe there was something for him to learn on this journey and he pondered that deeply. Did his goddess wish for him to act more akin to the people around him? Was he to be their shepherd? None of them looked as though they had ever shied from a fight. Even Katerin with her bookish unease, and Arjiah with all that wisdom in her eyes.

He was afraid to ask them more of themselves, for that would invite them to ask more of him. And he did not yet want them to know the lie he had told. He meant them no harm, of course. He meant no harm to anything he met. But often souls could not understand the reason for a lie, past the understanding that lies were bitter and painful.

He truly did want to help them, though he knew not why his goddess had urged him to push his lot in with them.

Was the way he could shape the wind and heal wounds all that they would require? He waited wistfully for that voice in his mind to answer any of the questions, but he only was met with the whispers of the wind. So he took those as the sign he needed, that he would know when he needed to. His goddess was not cruel, or unkind. And his perceptions of such were skewed greatly from what many others perceptions of the same might be.

So he waited with as much patience as he could muster, he listened to the wind as it caressed the sails, and he knew that all would be clear to him in time.