Sit Down, You're Rocking the Boat (Issima)

[Denen Sunsinger]

14 Fall, 511 AV Denen was petrified. Tugging anxiously at his head scarf, his fine brow was pinched, stress marking his fair eyes. They'd laid eyes on the water earlier. As if the cities weren't enough. Didn't these people worry about getting crushed by their buildings? He hugged his thin legs near his chest, his stone mortar and pestle held between them as he crushed ginger root. He didn't need the root himself, but Sam was already showing signs of nausea, and he wanted to be prepared. The ship lurched, and Denen grimaced, holding to whatever he could get his hands on. “G-Goddess,” he murmured to himself. “Give me courage.” Denen himself was not sick, unless one counted wide-eyed wonderment and terror as being ill. He wanted someone to hold onto, but Sam was ill, and Durno was down with the other horses. The indignity of it! Perhaps, though, that was his Drykas pride talking. He received several strange, sneering looks, an ducked down. If he stayed small and out of the way, and on the boat, the trip would be over soon.