In the Snow (Daske & Sable)

[Daske Baggywrinkle]

Timestamp: 33 Winter 511 Location: Norther Suvan Sea, north of Alvadas It was dusk when he dropped anchor in the tiny cove. Large wet snow flakes were falling on the water around him and starting to accumulate on the deck of the Black Lady. Towering conifers crowded the shoreline. Behind them a great forest climbed a steep hill and marched off toward the foothills of the vast mountain ranges of Kalea. Everything was monochrome. The sky, the sea, the beach, the snow, even the mighty trees … all reduced to various shades of gray. The lone sailor, bundled in multiple layers of clothing to hide from the cold, carefully furled the mains'l and tied it to the boom. Then he wrestled the jib into submission and lashed it to the deck at the bow. He thought about running a line from the Lady's stern to a tree on shore to double-anchor her, but because of the cold he didn't want to get wet. Instead, he dropped a second anchor from the bow some distance from the first. By carefully adjusting the length of each, he arrived at an arrangement that would allow the Lady only a modest amount of room to wander around as the wind and tide changed during the night. Then he went below and secured the hatch behind himself. Daske's sketch of the layout below deck of his Casinor  The oil lantern hanging in the galley cast a pale light around the cabin. He used it to light a piece of kindling, which in turn he used to light a fire in the oil stove. He gradually shed layers of clothing as the small cabin warmed. He cut the last of his pork into bite-sized pieces and put them in a pot on the stove. He chopped up two carrots and a potato and added them to the pot and then added some water. Soon he had a passable if bland stew, which he consumed with gusto. Not because of his superb culinary skills, which were non-existent, but because he was starved. He would save the rest of the stew for breakfast. He lit a second lantern hanging at the other end of the cabin to provide more light, and filled up and lit his pipe. From a small chest he retrieved a roughly sketched map, obviously a work in progress. It was his attempt at drawing a map of the Northern Suvan. At least the parts of it he had visited. He drew a small circle to mark his best guess as to where he was. He decided to call the place "Gray Cove" and carefully wrote the name next to the circle. He sketched a few tree-like figures around the cove and inland a ways. And he drew some squiggly lines to indicate the foothills. He sat back to admire his handiwork. “Not too bad,” he said out loud. He drew a lung full of smoke from his pipe and considered the map as he slowly exhaled. “Well, not too awful anyways.” Daske's Map  He put on his leather jacket and boots and opened the companion way hatch. He was rewarded with a cascade of snow. He poked his head out and saw that the boat was covered with about three inches of snow. It was dark now. There was still a light snow falling. He put the pot of stew on the deck to keep it cold over night, which he hoped would keep it from going bad. Then he answered a nature call, did a quick check around the boat to be sure everything was in order, and disappeared back into the warm cabin, securing the hatch behind him. His was a simple, almost primitive, life. But it was his life. And that was enough.

[Sable Baggywrinkle]

“Barnacle balls,” muttered the obscured shape huddled by the helm. A small shadow dislodged from another and scampered to the talking one. Sable accommodated the small creature, urging it to huddle within her heavy coat. “You should be in our bunk, little one, it’s too cold out here for you.” Sib didn’t respond and Sable turned stormy blue hues to scouring the snow veiled waters. The toothless old woman had been sure that the vessel had gone this way, and there was only one logical place to weather the night, but in the whitened black, no ship emerged. Last time she listened to a Soggysponge’s gossip. Finding the lone casinor wasn’t imperative, and she hadn’t even paid any mind to the parallel nature of their headings until the clouds had unleashed Morwen’s blessing upon them. Now having company with which to spend the night seemed a smart and wise course of action. Lost in planning the possible encounter, mind gleefully wandered away from the frigid conditions that would soon put a halt to her search; a dark and unmistakable shape loomed dangerously close before she noticed it. Cursing again, more out of fright, the woman jerked the spritely casinor to port. They would have missed each other anyway, but the danger couldn’t be ignored. Manipulating the sails, the captain brought the ship to a drift. As she approached the rail she noticed one of the other vessel’s anchor lines, also narrowly avoided. Limbs revitalized by shock and irritation, pulling out the grappling pole from storage and maneuvering into place passed quickly. Frequently, bloodshot and narrowed azure eyes cut toward the deck of the snow-crested ship. Once upon a time, visiting a ship with no pod would have been accompanied by anxieties. Perhaps the skipper had been banished for committing crimes, perhaps there would be nothing but trouble. But now Sable belonged to a decimated pod and, obviously, traveled by herself at the moment. Sirocco had reluctantly headed south to meet with his family, and Vrix had lingered at the Anchorage Flotilla in search of a replacement fresh water container. If the owner, Soggysponge had indicated it was a young man and hadn’t seen any other figures through her lens, hadn’t yet become aware of the presence of another ship, he’d surely notice when she grappled on and brought their two vessels in line with one another. But that’s as far as she went, hoping to heavens that he was still awake and would come investigate. Even gloved, her hands had a difficult time clamping firmly onto the tool, and a habitual swipe of her tongue over lips left the purple muscles sharply freezing. On second thought, Sib's warm presence against her ribs, if awkward, was more than welcome. “Ahoy!” she finally called, braving the eerie stillness. Her voice cracked across the open waters, reverberated off snowflakes with painful volume. Even a whisper was too loud in this weather. OOCPlease let me know how my post could be improved with proper nautical knowledge and terminology.

[Daske Baggywrinkle]

Daske had doused one of the oil lamps and turned the other one down low so that it produced a faint orange glow that extended just a few feet across the cabin before surrendering to the darkness. It had been a long, cold day and he was looking forward to getting some sleep. He was climbing into his bed when he felt something nudge the boat, followed by a faint “Ahoy.” He froze. He didn't hear anything. He padded forward and picked up his cutlass in its scabbard. He listened again and heard a noise in the cockpit. He shoved the companion way hatch open and launched himself out into the cockpit, ready for anything … he hoped. “What the hell?” He said. A boat about the same size as The Lady had come along side and a heavily bundled man was trying to pull the two boats together with a grappling pole. He said something in Fratava that Daske didn't quite catch. Only it wasn't a “he”. It was a “she”. And there was no mistaking the distinctive lines of her boat. It was a Casinor. Daske stood there unsure what to do until she said something else that he still didn't catch. A boarding part of one seemed unlikely. And the woman was struggling with the pole. Daske put his weapon on the other side of the cockpit from her, took hold of the near end of the grappling pole and pulled. The two boats came together with a bump. He grabbed a stern line and tossed it to the woman. Without waiting for her he went forward, grabbed the bow line and jumped across to her boat. He tied the bow line off and jumped back to the Lady and made his way back to the cockpit. By this time the woman and tied off the stern line and the boats were securely rafted together. They stood there staring at each other, he on his boat and she on hers. She looked cold and a bit haggard. He sighed. “Better come on over,” He said in Common. He went below and turned up the dimly lit lamp and then lit the other lamp. The cabin was still warm but would soon get cold, so he lit the oil stove and piped it up high. He put a kettle of water on the stove. He was just about to go topside to see what had happened to his mysterious visitor when a small furry creature came flying down the steep steps and into the cabin, where it came to a screeching halt right in front of Daske. He wasn't sure which of them was more surprised. “What the hell?” Said Daske.

[Sable Baggywrinkle]

The small furry creature returned the two-legged-lump’s disconcerted stare, frozen mid-scamper. As the uncouth inquiry hovered between them, slowly worn away by warm oil’s glow, the fuzz ball straightened onto its stubby back legs and puffed up in imitation of Daske’s body language. Aggression, perhaps even as contained as the man’s currently was, wasn’t a common sight for the little otter pup and her sharp little beaded eyes easily picked up the subtle indicators. Yes, this would be a good lump to learn from, Sable couldn’t teach everything, after all, certainly not the prickly aura this one emanated. As the tell-tale creak of an incoming visitor sounded above them, Sib waited for the moment her new lump’s gaze shifted to scatter. But rummaging around his space, feeling and sniffing and opening and sliding between sheets to roll around in cloying darkness, little eyeballs never strayed far from her new bauble. Lump. Sable dropped through the companion way hatch, juggling a few items in hand to secure it behind her before turning to the man who’d been caught mid leap to go topside. His proximity, startling, barred anything other than remaining constricted to the proverbial welcome mat. The scar, jagged and inflamed, careening down his cheek to flare open at his mouth seemed to flicker of its own volition in the weak light. She hesitated, arms pulling into her torso, holding what appeared to be a bottle and small leather pouch close. The man’s demeanor, tepid, she’d already gotten a taste of on deck. Her first two greetings after his initial appearance had gone unheeded, and when he’d finally uttered a resigned invitation in common he’d been given the benefit of the doubt. His aid in tying off the Sparkle had been as far as one could expect arms to open in weather like this. For a moment, the thickly bundled woman, only a slice of pale visage visible beneath the fur of the hood, debated between ice-breakers. The expected shift in attitude prompted by a warm cabin and a fellow Svefran hadn’t occurred with him. Sib, however, had made herself quite comfortable, Sable could see, as a fuzzy butt wiggled from beneath a padded bench. “You look horrible. Here, try this,” she finally pronounced in common, whisking up a small brightly colored string of something wrapped within a twist of slick paper. One hand thrust it forth, insistent, while the other momentarily brandished an unmarked and clean bottle of amber liquid before reaching around his slightly shorter frame to set it on the navigation station. Before the pouch was flipped shut and tucked in a voluminous pocket, other morsels of color peeked through. As he did what he would with the candy, though she didn’t expect him to react to the taffy as the last person she’d shared it with had, the tall woman pulled back her hood, creating a shimmering cape of snowflakes, and shook out long, mussed, curly dirty blond locks. Long purple fingers, quickly shed of gloves, fumbled with buttons as she tried to divest herself of the heavy coat, as well. With every piece of clothing opened and removed, she acquired a little bit of the ship’s aura, as though the light from that lap had frequently bathed her, or the padding of one of those benches bore her indentation. His cabin smelled good. Like most other ones, true, but a faint whiff of something smoky and flavorful wafted throughout the utilitarian space as well. Her gaze held not the respectful curiosity of an unexpected visitor, but the carefree possessiveness of a Svefra within a Casinor belonging to her people. He had the blue eyes. He had some height. Lots of scars. He had the looks, at least. After a perfunctory glance around, azure eyes, bright as the sun’s glittering reflection over rippling waters and not overcast even by his surly attitude, returned to him and his progress with the salt water taffy. “You have to open up the wrapping to eat it,” she pointed out with an affable smirk, her gaze lingering on his with open intimacy. He had blue eyes and owned a Casinor, for all intents and purposes he and she had ties. Why his demeanor and attitude reflected that not, was another matter. Finally pulling her coat off to reveal a simple white long-sleeved blouse sashed at the waist with a length of red silk and simple trousers, Sable found a convenient nearby corner and draped it over.

[Daske Baggywrinkle]

Daske looked down at the piece of wrapped candy she had put in his hand. “Uh … okay,” he said. He pulled the wrapper off and popped the candy into his mouth. He bit down on it and found that his upper and lower teeth were now stuck together, held fast by the gooey candy. He struggled with it for a moment until he got his teeth unstuck. After that he chewed on it more carefully and decided that it tasted pretty good. He watched with some consternation as the furry creature made itself right at home and proceeded to explore every nook and cranny as if it owned the place. It appeared harmless enough but he hoped it wouldn't chew anything up or leave a smelly mess under something. The woman, too, appeared to be making herself right at home. She had shoved a piece of candy in his hand, produced a bottle of what he assumed was an alcoholic beverage, stripped off her heavy coat, somehow navigated around him in a space he was pretty sure wasn't big enough for two, and casually tossed her coat on one of the benches. He did a quick appraisal. Tall, maybe a little taller than him. Lanky but well-toned. Long curly blond hair that looked like it had a mind of its own. Blue eyes that sparkled as though she was in possession of a secret that she wasn't sharing with anyone. And attractive enough to remind him how long it had been since he had been with a woman. He pushed that thought out of his mind. Quite apart from being an entirely inappropriate way to think about a guest, he was well aware that his face looked like it had gone through a meat grinder and was more likely to produce revulsion in a woman than attraction. She was apparently waiting for him to say something. “Hungry?” He asked her. Then he thought to himself, You idiot. Is that the best you could come up with? Without waiting for an answer to either question, he shoved the companion way hatch open, grabbed the pot of stew he had put out earlier, and pulled the hatch shut as he dropped back down into the cabin. He pushed the kettle of now boiling water to one side and put the pot on the stove in its place. “Stew,” he said, turning to face her. “It'll be ready in a few minutes. Uhm … I'm Daske!” He extended his hand toward her. Then, feeling like he should say something more, he added, “So what's a nice girl like you doin' out on an awful night like this?” He thought about what he had just heard himself say and decided he should stop talking while he still had only one foot in his mouth.

[Sable Baggywrinkle]

Candy and baby mammals…fastest way to disarm a fella ever. Or perhaps her vague suspicions of his nature, the possibility of it being gruff, were just a product of the weather. He did, after all, immediately offer to share valuable vittles with an unexpected stranger. At least, she assumed that the inquiry into the status of her stomach’s needs was aimed at relieving just such a thing. Blunt and to the point, nothing wrong with that. His guest looked vaguely surprised, but, feeling a wee bit peckish indeed, lips parted in preparation of response, curls bobbing as she started to nod affirmation…at his butt. The flurry of motion didn’t stop there. He jumped around like a flea. Tucked away into a corner, out of the way, she finally ventured forth again when he’d apparently finished his preparations and refocused on her once more. Only a few ticks had passed, but the concentration with which he applied to the reheating of the dish made the task seem that much more complicated and involved. Her hand, softer than a sailor’s should be, jumped into his own with a hearty squeeze. But instead of immediately returning with a name of her own, she leaned forward, expectant. Daske…the name had a solidity about it, short and to the point but competent; if names could engender such things. But infinitely more important was the plethora of information that his pod name would convey. Which never came. He didn’t seem to notice her confusion, at least not right away, as additional words tumbled forth so eloquently. The lanky woman still held on to his hand, liking the anchor it provided between them, and an intrigued delight spread across her face like the Syna’s first spring rays come to banish Morwen’s hold. Feeling as though the proper moment to respond to his kindness had mysteriously passed by, she tucked away words of appreciation, heartfelt as the scent of the stew rekindled and joined the sweet smoky flavor of his cabin. Curiosity quelled for the moment, as well, focus turned to his interestingly phrased question. Her hand finally fell away, significantly warmed by his masculine one. “I heard there were some seals of some kind spotted up this way and I wanted to try my hand at maybe catching one for supplies. Initially,” the blond admitted with a flaring smile. “Once the weather set it I actually started looking for what turned out to be your ship. A Soggysponge,” blue hues flicked to his, narrowed slightly as they searched for any sort of recognition of the pod, “told me she’d spotted a vessel a few days ago heading on my bearing and tonight seems the kind of night to spend with friendly company. “I didn’t want to show up empty handed, though. If you weren’t a rum kind of sailor, candy seemed the next best bet.” Well aware of the unique and non-complimentary nature of such a pairing, irony snaked through her tone, escaping through a wry smile. “If that doesn’t work, Sib seems to have taken a liking to you,” Sable observed, hands lifting to her hips as her gaze dropped to the little tan fuzzball sniffing around his feet with a baby’s grasp of stealth. Wide-eyed innocence complete with a slice of pink protruding from beneath whiskers rotated up his long body and presented itself for scrutiny. Having introduced, indirectly, her inquisitive tavan, now seemed the time to rectify the oversight from earlier. “I’m Sable, temporary Lia of the Baggywrinkles.” She almost offered to shake hands again, compelled to rekindle a solid connection amongst her unsteady understanding of their host. “Thank you for helping us. I haven’t had a carrot in months.” Straight nose sniffed slightly at the smell of food made all the sharper by her own lack of culinary skill. Charred fish seemed the only smell associated with vittles anymore.

[Daske Baggywrinkle]

She sure does smile a lot, he thought. And her hand are soft. He decided he could get used to both real fast. He looked down at the furry little fellow sniffing furiously at his feet. Must be her tavan. Lexi had had a tavan. So had Dahlia. Do all Svefra have one? He waved her to sit on the bench where she had thrown her coat, and carefully stepped around Sib, who seemed determined to stay underfoot, and located himself on the opposite bench. “Baggywrinkle.” He said. “That'd be your pod name I guess. Dahlia was a Tailrunner and Lexi was a Whitewave.” And she was the temporary Lia of her pod, which meant she was its leader, at least temporarily. “I don't have a pod.” He could see that she was taken aback by this admission. He got up to check on the stew. It hadn't been outside long enough to get cold and had warmed up to a simmer again. He wiped clean the bowl he had used himself and dumped the contents of the pot into it. He wiped clean the wooden ladle and stuck it in the stew, which he then handed to Sable. “Sorry 'bout the bowl and spoon. They're the only one's I got. It's boar meet. Killed it myself. Got a scar on my leg to show for it. Potato. Couple of carrots. Ain't much, but you're welcome to it.” He sat down again. “My folks were Svefra. Slaves. They had me, so I was a slave too. Grew up on the plains of Cyphrus. They're dead now, so I decided to take up sailin'. That was about a year ago. And here I am.” He paused for a long moment, frowning. “You gonna stay the night? Might as well. It's warm here. Probably not so warm on your boat. I can clear a place for ya in the aft cabin. I sleep in the V-berth myself. Maybe you can tell me about your pod. Oh, and I wouldn't mind havin' some of that rum with you.” He realized he was babbling. He looked into her blue eyes, which somehow managed to look perpetually mischievous, and said in a quite voice, “It's nice to have someone to talk to.”

[Sable Baggywrinkle]

Taking Daske’s cue, Sable settled onto a bench and pushed aside the moist coat. She folded one long swimmer’s leg over the other, nodding at her host’s deduction with pleasure. When Lexi’s name came up, she almost interrupted with an exclamation of shared acquaintanceship. But that would have changed the subject; besides, it quickly faded in import at his admission of solitude. By the time he offered the meal, his guest seemed quite comfortable with the arrangements. She eagerly dug in, grunting as inhaling without even a perfunctory chew adversely effected her esophagus. Boar, scar, carrots, eat up. His conversation jumped rather flea-like as well, and occasional glances up revealed an inextinguishable mirth despite the nature of his revelations. Ladle scraped against the bowl’s bottom. He had a knack for speaking over opportunities to respond. But this penchant was unexpectedly endearing, it seemed to stem from eagerness rather than callousness. “Thank you, your boar was quite tasty. If you could fry some up for breakfast, I’d be delighted to weather the night with you,” Sable counter offered with a lopsided smile into his somber hues. “What are your plans now?” Bouncing to her feet, she gave the dishes a cursory wiping and set them aside. The bottle gave a satisfying pop and found its way into Daske’s hand. “Is it strange being alone? Knowing that there’s a family out there waiting for you to come home?” The golden guest stretched out—as much as one could within the utilitarian space—hands folding over her stomach and the heel of one boot bouncing off the toe of the other. Curls splaying over shoulders, her head lolled back against the bulkhead and sharp hues looked straight through the wooden planks above them. “Not just your parents’ relations; you’ve kept all of us waiting for an entire year.” In the silence that followed the statement, the importance of it reverberating throughout the small cabin, Sib scurried between them. She had a trophy caught between teeth and strutted up to Daske to present it. The sound of her leaping next to him brought blue hues back down to them. Sitting primly, the little otter cub extended forth one of his leather shoes. Sib’s human fought a grin tugging at the corner of her lips. She would bet food that all the belongings that one precocious and clever little otter could gain access to were strewn all over his bed by now. After a moment of fishing around, another bright string of taffy landed in his lap. “There were four of us originally, the Baggywrinkles,” Sable announced the name with a grand flourish of hands, fondly mocking the dignity inherent to it. “Laviku blessed my sister with a Pardisa, a dumbo octopus, and granted her leave to start her own pod. We cut out on our own with just our mates. Not long into our revelry, we found a lost sister come home from the stars. Vrix,” the scurrilous name faded into sibilance. Sable’s eyes locked on to the past, and from the depths of shadows, smears of darkness hiding from weak yellow light, they no longer glittered. “And not long after that, we lost two members. Now it’s my sister’s mate, Vrix, and I.” She looked as Daske, shaking off the visions that had brought tender intimacy into her expression. “We’re ordained to exist as our own pod, but, still, you can’t party with just three people.” In a flash, no more than a negligent swipe of the tongue, that inscrutable mischief had returned. Parties could be pulled off splendidly with only three people, but she wasn’t really talking about carousing. Like the steady crash of waves, a Svefra’s family always sang the perfect lullaby. A siren’s lullaby.

[Daske Baggywrinkle]

Daske watched Sable wolf down the last of the boar stew as though it was the best thing she'd ever eaten, which Daske attributed more to her hunger than to his cooking. He said. “That was the last of the boar meat, so we ain't havin' that for breakfast. But we'll come up with somethin'.” He took a big swallow of rum from the proffered bottle. “Whoa! That's strong stuff,” he said and took another swallow before handing it back to her so she could have a turn. The cabin was comfortably warm now and the soft orange light from the two lamps provided a satisfying if subdued emotional warmth to match. He packed tobacco into his pipe and got it going while Sable related her pod's story. His heart felt heavy as he took in her story. But at the same time she was giving him a little glimpse into a world he had never known. The world of the Svefra as family. Daske and the otter pup engaged in a brief staring contest, clear blue eyes versus little beady black eyes. Daske eventually lost the contest when his frown gave way to a crooked smile. The otter seemed to view this as a victory. It dropped the shoe beside Daske and climbed into his lap. Daske scratched the otter behind the ears. It closed its eyes and pushed its head against Daske's hand. It was a one of those magical moments that Daske was usually completely oblivious to. But this time it had caught him in its mystical web and he was enthralled. He looked at Sable and then at Sib and then at Sable again. He had a sudden epiphany: This is home. He leaned back on the padded bench and let himself sink into the quiet comfort of warmth, light, companionship, pipe tobacco. It all felt right. He asked a few more questions about her pod and about her life as a Svefra. She managed to dig a few answers out of him in exchange. “I set out to find my people. But the Svefra I met so far have kept their distance. Maybe I'm just too much of an outsider. Except for you. You seem to accept me just the way I am, which is a good thing since that's the only way I come.” He drew on his pipe again and exhaled aromatic smoke into the cabin. Sib had moved over to Sable's side of the cabin and was occupying herself with a sock she'd found somewhere. “Maybe I can string along with your pod for a while?” A little later he made some room in the aft cabin and found some blankets for Sable to use. He turned off the stove and put out one of the lamps. He dimmed the other lamp as much as he could without it going completely out. “I'm glad you found me,” he said as he headed for the V-berth. OOCAs much as I'm enjoying this thread, I know we are both anxious to ramp up Spring threads. So, we can either end the story here and focus on the Spring threads. Or we can continue this story the next morning. Daske doesn't actually have anything left to eat on his boat. So he will likely try his hand at hunting in the snow. I can go either way with it. I'll let you decide with your next post.

[Sable Baggywrinkle]

Rum’s bitter bite lingered behind her tongue, nose scrunching as she sniffed out a puff of acrid air. It had been a while and clearly found herself in accordance with his observation. As they passed the bottle back and forth in easy camaraderie, enjoying the beverage became easier and Sable soon exuded a softer glow of happy friendship. The analytical edge had faded away. With an approving and sweet quirk to her lips, Sable watched Daske capitulate to the pup. At the moment he wore emotions on his sleeve and the look in his eyes as he gazed in wonder at them touched her heart. Something had settled into its rightful place, something had healed for the slave. Candy, rum and baby mammals, fastest way to a fella’s heart ever. Rum’s golden glow sweetened the impression of their initial meeting and she now saw his unique behavior as the product of uncertainty stemming from a distinct lack of experience and loneliness. Sable prodded the sock with a limp foot, giving it life to further entice the otter baby. Sib didn’t appreciate her uncoordinated offering. “I’d be worried if you didn’t ask,” she responded to his request, eyebrows lifted in frank admission. “I don’t know why those other Svefra didn’t take you to task”–because that’s certainly what Sable had done—“but I insist that you sail with my pod for a while. At least long enough to get used to our ways and make connections among us.” A firm nod sealed the deal…in her mind at least. The lanky woman tried to stay out of the way as he made preparations, thinking herself quite the little bundle all curled up on her bench, but mostly she had just toppled over and watched him stride back and forth as though he was the most interesting rainbow she’d ever laid eyes on. They passed in the semi darkness, his admission inciting a hand to curl around his shoulder…or maybe that was just because the deck seemed to pitch in unnecessary maneuvers. “Someone had to, we wouldn’t have let you wander around for long.” With a squeeze she moved on and toppled into the bed. Excessive rustling and thumps later, she’d rolled herself into a burrito. Sib did not appreciate the lack of openings to snuggle into and commenced operation Keep Sable’s Face Warm and Possibly Suffocate Her. Surrounded with alien belongings and architecture, Sable spent long moments listening in the early dawn. The clarity with which she’d awoken meant it was her normal pre-dawn hour of rising. The lanky woman struggled to escape cloying covers that had somehow wrapped completely around her body and eventually stumbled into the main area. Ah. That’s right. Free slave Daske. And rum. Rum. That explained the nasty taste in her mouth. Rushing to the discarded coat, she stuffed a green string of sweetness between sticky lips and tried to discern whether or not her host had woken yet. Sib was probably with him. As quietly as possible she opened the companionway hatch and slipped on deck. Having forgotten to remove her shoes expedited the escape. Snow blanketed his ship, and she scootched her feet through the ankle-high drifts without lifting them up for proper steps. The morning chill brushed razor-sharp over exposed skin, but skies were clear. Their ships stood out starkly against the white shore and sluggish water. She leapt back aboard the Sparkle and did a cursory check to make sure everything had weathered the night safely. Today was a good day to hunt some seal. …however one went about doing that. OOCSince they've connected, I imagine we can just do a little hunting and continue this thread at our leisure. Get to know one another better, have some seal wrestling contests, you know, the usual.