Closed Party of Two

[Finian Truewind]

Date: 90 Fall, 513
Location: A day's sail from Syliras
More or less continued from here.


It had taken a little longer than Finian guessed to reach the little islets of his memory. First, the challenge had been figuring out how to tow another casinor. Second, the blond shipwright had to read a map and get his bearings (thank Laviku for the reef Rheyine had been fishing). Lastly, it had simply been further away than he thought. The storm had really thrown him off.

Once the islets were in sight, however, Ian was relieved.

There were a handful of little islands, mostly dark rock rising up out of the depths of the northern Suvan. A bit of shallow water stretched between them, thriving with kelp and sea life. The largest of the little islands was still a tiny thing that could be crossed in less than a bell on foot. It was covered in trees and shrub and birds, with a dark sand beach that curved around one side of the entire island. Half of the beach was a cove protected by an arch of wave-carved rock that stayed dry during high tide. It was a little haven of sorts, and a nook had been carved deep in the arch as a shrine to Laviku.

It was a nice little way point outside of Syliras, and one that Finian had traveled to when gathering ship-making supplies from the Fortress City with his father and brothers and cousins years ago. Many Svefra had obviously stopped here before, but as the season had turned from summer to fall and finally to winter, the Flotilla had long since drifted west, the islets were abandoned.

The storm had tossed some trees over. One or two sprawled on the beach like dead giants, a reminder of the fierceness of the coming of winter.

The pair arrived before the sun set, but it took some time to beach Rheyine's crippled Storm Runner in a way that suited Finian's perfectionist tastes. If he was going to work on the casinor, he had to ensure a decent workspace. Ian anchored The Handmade'n in the shallows nearby so his tools were at hand. By the time they'd settled their ships, Syna was just beginning to dip toward the horizon. A chill would hang in the air come dark, and a fog quickly began to blanket the islets.

There would be enough light to make preparations for the night, but there would be no time to begin working on repairs.

Ian stood dripping on the beach after swimming from his casinor, dark sand warming his bare feet. He brought ashore a few of his things for the night, balanced precariously on his platinum-locked head to keep them dry. Scanning over the mangled trees toward the stone archway, he tried to remember where he had sheltered last time he was here several years ago.

He waited for the blonde fisherwoman to catch up; her own casinor lurching precariously to one side as the tide slipped away to leave it bare on the beach. Lagoon blue eyes scanned its hull, and he actually felt himself ache to scrape it clean of barnacles right then and there. Time for that could come later. He was thankful the Storm Runner wasn't taking on water, but there was still plenty of work to do on the old thing. Finian sighed with his particular form of excitement. He did love boats.

Anything else was just a shine on the treasure for the shipwright.

"I think there's at least an old firepit that way, and there's somewhere we can thank Laviku for his kindness." He broke the relative quiet, speaking above the crashing of waves and wind rustling the leaves. The chill had already raised goosebumps on his tanned skin, "It's probably less windy, if nothing else."

[Rheyine Stormchaser]

The islets had come into view late in the afternoon, when the sun was still up in the sky. Standing on the bow of Finian's ship, Rheyine had taken in the beauty of the small cove. The storm had touched even this sanctuary of Laviku, a few of the trees ripped from the very earth and dumped onto the dark sandy beach. As they had towed her crippled casinor in, the blonde fisherwoman had leaned over the railing of the Handmaiden and looked into the crystal clear waters around the reef. Her face lit up as she took in the abundance of sea life, already her mind wandering...perhaps if she got up before the sun tomorrow she could do some spear fishing. Even as it was, she had dropped a line as they sailed, pulling up a parrotfish. It wasn't a big fish, but enough to provide them with a small meal each combined with a bit of kelp. It had taken quite some time to beach the casinor, the process starting to irk Rheyine by the time the sun had begun to set, her jaw set in slight irritation but her mouth firmly shut. It wasn't her place, shipwriting. She had no idea how to do any of it, and Finian had very generously offered her assistance. If she was annoyed by his fussing over where the damned Storm Runner was placed, the young svefra did her best not to show it. Finally, they were done. Both svefra had returned to their ships to gather supplies for the night, just as the sun dipped behind the horizon. Climbing down the hull as her ship tipped precariously to the side, Rheyine walked through the waist deep water towards the beach with her backpack slung over one shoulder. A fog had settled around the islets and a cool wind whispered through the leaves of the trees. Shuddering a little and rubbing her arms, the shorter girl turned and looked along the beach towards the protected cove. She smiled at Finian and nodded. "Aye, would be good t'get out of this breeze. Chilly, ain't it? Here, this'll warm us up a bit." Lifting her hand, Rheyine revealed a half bottle of rum, dug out of the ruins of her cargo. Tugging off the cork with a satisfying 'pop', she took a quick sip and handed the bottle to Finian. Turning, she proceeded to walk towards the cove, her sarong tugging around her legs as the waves crashed gently on the shore with the outgoing tide. The sand was warm underfoot, and the grains clung to wet skin. It mattered little, sand was all part of being Svefra. It would dry and fall off, mostly on the beach, some maybe in their food. Good for digestion her father used to joke. Every so often the girl would stop and reach down to pick up the fuzzy seaweed and pieces of driftwood. As they reached the cove, Rheyine was delighted to see Finian was right. She dropped her backpack on the ground and reached in to pull out her cloak, wrapping it around her shoulders before she dug through for her flint and steel. Gathering her tinder in the firepit, she struck the flint and steel together a few times till a small spark landed in the fuzzy seaweed. Leaning over, she blew gently till it burst into a small flame. Feeding the flame pieces of twigs and tinder till it grew big enough to take a piece of larger driftwood, Rheyine placed the fish directly beside the wood, allowing the heat of the fire to begin the cooking process, skin and scales still on. "This is a nice place." She said as she stood up, hands out over the fire as she looked around. It was a shame to think just how close she was to land..and even more of a worry what she would have done had Finian not appeared when he did.

[Finian Truewind]

Finian straggled behind Rheyine up the beach at first, pausing to investigate one of the smaller fallen trees. It wasn’t too wet. It would burn without too much smoke. He’d have to come back and gather some firewood before the sun set, just to have enough timber to keep them warm and safe overnight. Chopping some wood would give him a chance to see what the trees were like on the little island, to see if any of it would be useful for making repairs to the Storm Runner or if they’d have to sail to Syliras instead.

He hoped not.

The Fortress City was one of his least favorite places, all crowded and walled in and unmoving and smelly.

The itinerate shipwright was chewing the inside of his cheek again, lost in thought about woodgrain and knights in armor, when the blonde fisherwoman was pressing a half-full bottle of rum toward him, cold glass sloshing against his chest bringing him back into focus. He offered a smile, forced to shuffle all of the shyke he was carrying before his hands were free to grasp at it. He slung both his rucksack and his neatly rolled blanket over one shoulder, then barely had the bottle in his grip before he took a swig of his own. He coughed and nodded, finally exhaling through clenched teeth, “Th’arch of rock there makes a good shelter. It’s not gonna get any warmer, that’s for sure.”

Ian took another, longer, more fiery drink before passing the bottle back. It was perhaps more than just a little fortunate Rheyine had managed to salvage some alcohol from her ship, if only because he knew it would slow him down and dull his sharp edges.

She’d probably appreciate that.

He’d seen the look of petulant annoyance on her sun-kissed face while beaching her casinor, unable to keep from noticing a little too well the way her lips thinned and her periwinkle blue eyes hardened in his general direction. He had half-expected at least one tongue-lashing for his impatient, somewhat demanding need for perfection when positioning her broken casinor—just so many strokes away from The Handmad’n, in that certain depth of water, near a bank of sand when the tide went out. Granted, the waves would have their way with the thing until morning … and yet, to Finian, that was not the point of his particular arrangement.

Regardless, she let him have his way without verbal objection; her body language had objected enough. If he was going to do the work, he simply needed things his way.

That small, inflamatory trait had, unfortunately, been a constant source of professional conflict at home on the Flotilla. He was used to being called difficult, but only under the guise of assuming no one really understood his vision anyway. Not that he could communicate half of what he saw effectively even if someone wanted to know, all churning sea and bent wood in his mind. He wasn’t really ever intentionally rude … and Finian had truly struggled to contain himself and keep the peace in the process. It was hard.

The rum burned his empty stomach and made his blue eyes water, and it was with a bit of reluctance he handed it back once they’d arrived to their natural shelter for the night.

Under the arch was a sandy, rocky expanse. A bit of greenery grew in patches on the rocks, and against the most inland curve of the arch was indeed a small nook intended to be a little shrine. Old offerings stood the test of time in their dedication to Laviku, with bowls and platters and treasures and candles and bones making it obvious that Svefra had frequented the islets over the years.Signs of previous waylays and camps were there, but it seemed as though no one had been to the island in at least a season or so. There was a fire pit, dug in the sand and lined with sea-worn rocks, and a few larger rocks had been arranged as a small windbreak. The edge of the Suvan washed against the far end, hiding the final curve of the arch in deeper water. The blond shipwright set his things down, watching the smaller woman wrap herself in her cloak, allowing his gaze to wander briefly over tanned skin and inked lines only to have it hidden from view. It was always a bonus to work for folks who were easy on the eyes, even when working for free.

“Aye. It is nice. Been here a handful o’times with my Da an’ brothers when we’d go to Syliras for work or trade from th’Anchorage Flotilla. It’s quiet’n’safe as far’s I know.” One calloused hand rubbed the back of his neck absently before finding a stray braid of platinum hair and pale green sea glass to toy with, adding by means of explanation, “S’where I’m from—the Flotilla.”

It wasn’t where he lived anymore, however.

Lagoon blue eyes shifted from Rheyine’s face to the fire she’d started, watching the kindling crackle and spark as she huffed her own breath into it to give it life. The driftwood she’d gathered wouldn’t last them the night and wouldn’t keep them warm once Leth blanketed the sky with black and with stars. Ian flashed a toothy smile, ignorant to how obvious it was that he wanted to change the subject, hooking a thumb over his shoulder for emphasis,

“I should chop some o’that wood back on the beach before the sun sets on us. There’s’more food in my bag-” dried fruit from trading in the summer pressed into little round cakes, hard biscuits that might soften with some steam, and a little pouch of salted herbs, “-help yourself. I’ll try’n’be back before that fish is ready.”

Ian laughed and rolled his shoulders, turning with a little wave before wandering back up the beach toward the smaller of the two fallen trees.

[Rheyine Stormchaser]

She'd heard Finian mention the Flotilla when they'd first met, and again now, yet it was blatantly obvious that he didn't want to speak about them. Something about the tone of his voice, the set of his shoulders, and the all to quick way he flipped topic. The young woman stood up, brushing sand off her knees and wrapping her cloak tighter as he wandered off with a laugh. Taking another swig of the rum, Rheyine whistled through her teeth and shook her head before corking it and dropping the bottle in the soft dark sand. Digging through the taller man's pack, the young fisherwoman found the pouch and the cakes. Picking up one of the hardened travelling biscuits, she savored the smell of dried fruit. It had been a while since she tasted fruit. The last time had been at her sisters leaving festival. They had set up a huge dual pod celebration on the shores of some oceanic island, and the father's pod had set out all sorts of exotic treats. Mangoes and bananas and red ruby pomegranates. Rheyine loved the pomegranates, they reminded her of red glass jewels. She smiled at the memory, before closing his pack. Turning the fish, the blonde girl walked back from the firepit towards the vegetation nearby. Fishing through the foilage, she pulled out a palm frond, stripping the long thin leaves from the spine. Taking them back to their fire, she set to work deftly weaving a simple cooking basket. It was only small, enough to hold water to steam the cakes, and the process was like the weaving of a net, but tighter. It took her only moments. Filling the little basket with water, she pulled some of the smaller rocks away from the fire, using the corner of her cloak to pick them up and drop them in the water till it began to steam. Creating a platform with a few twigs, she placed the cakes on top and poked the fish. It was nearly done, the scales and skin peeling and blackening in the heat to reveal slightly pink flesh underneath. Pushing it away from the heat to finish the cooking process, she straighted and threw off her cloak. The warmth of the fire combined with the rum had served its purpose for now. Pursing her lips as she stared at the fire, Rheyine thought about her pod. Had they been caught in the storm? Were they safe? Were they worried about her? All these things, they didn't weigh heavily on her mind as such, but they did gnaw at the back of her mind. Turning her periwinkle gaze, she searched for Finian. The shrine in the alcove caught her eye as she leaned down to pick up the rum and take another shuddering swig. Keeping the bottle in hand, she moved closer to the shrine, looking at the various tributes that had been left for the honour of Laviku. There was a small carved stone bowl that held reminants of dried flowers and what looked like a bird bone. Kneeling down, she poured a little of the rum in the bowl and raised her bottle to the shrine in a silent toast. "For Finian. I ain't sure if it was all part of some grander plan, but if y'hadn't sent him my way today, not sure what would have happened." She took another sip, wincing as she stared at the shrine, lost in thought.

[Finian Truewind]

[ooc]Editing the time stamp to make this and the previous thread in the beginning of winter. November snuck away from me with work and holiday busyness. Can’t seem to edit posts from my phone with Tapatalk, so I’ll do this when I get home.[/ooc]

Finian wandered down the beach, following his own footprints back toward one of the fallen trees, the dark sand still warm from a full day’s worth of Syna’s light. The familiar weight of his hatchet swung in rhythm with his lazy steps out of habit and comfort in his left hand. A clingy, misty fog had begun to gather closely on the islets, and it was chilly. He already regretted not bringing his cloak along for his walk, and found himself looking forward to the warm meal he could smell carried on the wind. A bit more of that rum wouldn’t be such a bad thing, either.

The gnarled, twisted roots of his chosen tree still held onto sand and a few patches of seagrass. The winds from the storm must have been strong indeed, for a gaping hole where the tree once sat upright in was torn into the dry edge of the little cove’s beach. The blond circled the tree’s entirety once, free hand rubbing the ruddy stubble on his chin in thought as he tried to decide just how much chopping his task would require. The tree wasn’t thick or old; just a wind-twisted conifer that had gone to seed too close to the tideline to be safe in foul weather. He settled on where the tree split, guessing the branches from one side of the tree and part of the thicker trunk would be enough to keep them warm for the night and maybe even heat up some breakfast. Climbing over the trunk, he found his footing and squared his shoulders before he began to hew away at the split.

Even with the first few hacks, the wood was fragrant but the bark was brittle, flying everywhere. The wood was hard, toughened like a Svefra by life in the middle of the Suvan. If the rest of the trees were similar, they’d make for good repairs of the battered Storm Runner.

It took several hefts of his hatchet to sever the branch from the fallen body of the tree, many of which were surely audible in the damp air on the small, rocky islet. Once finished with the easiest task, he set to work chopping the main branch and smaller branches into functional, roughly even lengths. The sand was loose in places, so he was often forced to pause and drag things around into better positions, lest he risk self-injury.

Once he had the main branch chopped into logs of an acceptable length, the itinerant shipwright stripped any twigs and small branches from the logs. Sitting on the trunk of the tree, he skimmed over the circumference of each log with his hatchet, turning the skimmed bits into a pile of kindling and stacking the logs in another pile opposite. Finally, to split some of the larger logs, he made a little mound-like nest in the sand to hold each piece of wood upright before making his wide, chopping swings. His first few logs weren’t split as well as the last few, if only because it had been quite some time since he’d gathered firewood. Once finished, he stacked everything on his vest, which he’d shrugged off somewhere in the middle of all the chopping. Despite the cold, all the wood-cutting was sufficient to cause Finian to break a sweat. He carefully arranged the wood and bound the kindling together with some winnowy leftover twigs on top, when his stomach announced it was petching empty with a loud grumble. The rum had not quite been enough fuel for the job.

Slipping his hatchet back into his belt and pausing to dust wood chips and bark half-heartedly from his person, Ian folded up the sides of his leather vest around the firewood and hefted the pile up with both arms.

The night’s first stars were already peeking through the deep blue of the sky, and sunset’s colors had quickly faded into dusk. The fog was getting thicker and it was definitely cold, the islet’s chill sinking into the Svefra’s salt-worn, sweaty skin. Finian simply followed his nose and his stomach back along the beach, gritting his teeth under the weight of his fragrant, woody burden. The ruddy glow of the small fire was a welcome hint of warmth once he returned, careful to neatly deposit his gathered firewood within easy reach the fire pit with an unceremonious but self-satisfied grunt.

Dusting his calloused hands on his still-damp pants before rubbing his arms for warmth listlessly, Ian let his lagoon-blue eyes linger over all that was cooking before looking up to spot Rheyine near the Laviku shrine. Pausing to rummage through his pack to find a small, carefully wrapped package, the blond shipwright tugged on his loose, white cotton shirt, not bothering to button it as he carried a palm-sized devotional object of his own to join all the other various offerings left to the god of the sea and his people.

If he was at all privy to Rheyine’s words of thanks for his person, Ian’s easy smile gave away no clues. In his hand was a tiny hand-carved toy casinor, one of many that he whittled when bored, frustrated, or surrounded by too many children. His free hand brushed the smaller blonde’s shoulder briefly as he leaned to one side of her and plopped his little craft into her alcoholic sea,

“An’ thanks to our Sea Father for keepin’ us safe an’ our boats afloat. If He kept us breathin’, then I’m sure He’s got us covered for the fixin’ of things, too. I’ll trust in that.” He grinned down at his bobbing offering of thanks and goodwill with all intention of a quiet moment of thanks, only to have the growling of his stomach ruin the silence completely,

“Mmmf. Well. There’s that.”

[Rheyine Stormchaser]

The sound of chopping wood was pleasant, like some primordial rhythm that thumped in her chest. When it stopped, the svefra knew Finian was done. She could hear the soft crunch of sand underfoot as he walked over. Turning her head as he approached, Rheyine smiled at the taller man. His hand on her shoulder was a comforting gesture, reminiscent of her older brothers. They had been protective of her, the only girl left since her sister moved pods and youngest of their siblings. Whilst she loved them, Rheyine also felt a twinge of anger. If they hadn't been so sheltering perhaps she could have avoided the whole predicament with the storm. If they had taken the time to teach her better instead of doing everything for her. Glancing over, the blonde noticed Finian had changed into a warmer shirt instead of his vest. For one ridiculous moment the blonde made an observation that he was definitely not her brother, and his hand felt suddenly too warm on her skin. She hoped the growing darkness covered her sudden blush. Her periwinkle gaze followed the little carved boat with a small chuckle of delight. It was fascinating, a casinor in miniature. The young womans hands itched to reach down and inspect it, but she resisted. Nodding at his words, she stood in respectful silence, till his growling stomach broke the quiet. The slight svefra couldn't catch the bubbling laughter in her throat, breaking into giggles and reaching out to take his arm, tugging as she moved away from the shrine. "Come on, meals done and this rum ain't t'good for an empty stomach." Shaking the bottle for emphasis, Rheyine released his arm to wrap her arms around herself as they walked, goosebumps breaking out as another chill breeze swept the sands and swirled around her legs. "Gods, that wind is cold!" She exclaimed, a shudder running through her from the cold. Running on ahead slightly, Rheyine reached the fire first and threw her cloak around her again before crouching near the flames. Tossing the bottle of eye-watering liquor on the sand, the blonde served the fish, kelp cakes and fruity biscuits on the left over palm leaves she had from her makeshift cooking basket. She sprinkled a pinch of Finian's salted herbs on the meal, before breaking off some fish and taking a kelp cake, gesturing for the man to do the same. Taking a bites of the tender white flesh of the fish, Rheyine chewed thoughtfully whilst she looked at Finian, their faces orange in the flickering flames. The fog surrounded the isle around them, making it feel as though they were the only two beings in existence. Rheyine licked her fingers clean before reaching for the rum and popping the cork. Taking a drink, she winced and placed it where they could both reach it. "So. Finian Truewind. The shipwright. I take it you've been rescuing stranded sailors for a while now?" The woman said with a warm smile, breaking off a piece of her kelpcake and popping it into her mouth. The rum had finally gotten its tendrils into her, ever so slightly, giving the blonde a slight buzz.

[Finian Truewind]

Finian laughed his way back to the fire, half-dragged, playing along, all suddenly aware of his apparent ability to bring color to the other Svefra's cheeks at will. It could have been too much power, really, had the taller blond bothered to pay homage to any thoughts not currently connected to food or sailing a course via his stomach. The wind was petching cold, indeed, damp fog giving the sea breezes safe passage through clothes to bite at skin.

The artificial windbreak that made up their roughly delineated campsite was a ready comfort, as was the glow of the driftwood fire.

He paused to stoke the flames with fresh wood while Rheyine prepared to serve their meal, wrapping himself in his own cloak and spreading his blanket over the quickly cooling sand to sit own. The fire quickly sprung to life, crackling and bright, orange glow made brighter as it danced off the moist rock of the arch they sheltered under and the misty air. The wood burned with an almost fruity aroma, bold and obvious, but hardly smoking despite the breeze. He settled as close to the heat as he could stand, wiggling his toes at the licking flames with a slightly crooked grin, finally relaxing with a slow roll of stiff shoulders and a long sigh.

Ian took to their meal with eager gratefulness from the fisherwoman, and it was all he could do to take his time and enjoy the meal instead of rudely inhale everything within reach. A few swigs of rum helped him keep a more polite pace that didn't resemble stuffing his cheeks thoughtlessly, warming his insides just as the flames warmed his outside, both a welcome source of heat. He was busy picking fishbones clean of roasted flesh when Rheyine posed her question, and he chuckled between chews,

"Rescuin'? Me? Pffft!"

He waved one of their meal's blackened fins in a somewhat self-depreciating manner while his other hand sought the glass bottle in the sand, "Hardly! I plucked a Vantha lass straight out of the Suvan once after she'd been tossed overboard--true story!--but you're my first kinda' shipwrecked damsel in distress!"

Hopefully, he'd get everything right enough for a tell-worthy tale. It would be a shame, otherwise.

The itinerant shipwright smiled cheekily before raising the liquor back to his lips, clearing his throat after a long swig before adding to his response, "It's only been a few winters since I left home, but I've righted a few ships in need with their sailor's gratitude. Not too many; jus' enough to get by, I s'pose. Buildin' ships is city work, sorta. Or at least somewhere with more dock than an lil' island's got."

Finian shrugged his cloak off his shoulders and leaned back on his palms, freckled cheeks already ruddy from the fire and the rum, "An' yourself? That's quite the casinor to be fishin' on your own—" He was a little cautious with the tone of his question, knowing full well that the djed storm had ruined families and decimated entire swaths of their population, but the edges of things had begun to soften, “Did'ja leave your pod to see what'cha could see?”

[Rheyine Stormchaser]

Rheyine grinned, raising an eyebrow at his comments. She had walked into the ‘damsel in distress’ all too easily, nodding to herself with a chuckle as she raised a finger with mock caution. “Sailor, not damsel.” Taking some more of her fish, the slight woman listened to his tale as she rested back on one arm. It was a skill she could never bring herself to learn, the fixing of ships. It really was something that a svefra perhaps should at least be somewhat rudimentarily skilled in, but Rheyine wasn't known for her dedication to listening to her father, or her brothers, when they had tried to show her those things. There had been clear waters, and all sorts of delicious curiosities. Besides, if she fished she could trade those things for help. No work required. “You don’t seem like much of a city person.” Rheyine observed as he spoke, licking her fingers clean and taking the bottle of rum as he returned it to the sandy divot. Taking a swig, the young woman felt the color rise to her cheeks again, pulling the rum away from her lips with a look somewhere between a sulky scowl and an embarrassed frown. Putting the bottle aside, her periwinkle eyes instead found the fruity cakes he had provided instead of his own eyes, taking one and moving so she could sit cross legged. Picking pieces of the cake and eating them slowly, Rheyine shrugged. “Ain't so bad when the waters calmer. Storm Runner was my sisters ship, but then she went and had so many babies that she didn't fit in it anymore. And then that storm hit, it killed a lot of people.” Chewing her lip, the blonde picked at the fruit. “Some of our pod, a lot of her mates pod. So she moved in with him, he has a bigger ship anyway.” Shaking off the melancholy of the memory, Rheyine looked up at Finian with a smile. “My mother made me get out and explore. A life lived in the shallows is no life lived at all and all that. Then of course..” She gestured at the sky and the vast ocean, indicative of the turbulent storm she had been captured in. Taking a bite of the fruit cake properly, the woman grinned. “I haven’t had fruit in so long, I’d forgotten the taste. Y’know, one solstice, Ryvah and Maelstrome – my eldest brothers – they brought a whole casket of those orange ones. You know the ones? With the orange skin, and they are orange inside. Really juicy. Anyhow, they brought a whole casket and I ate so many I never wanted to see another one in my whole life.” Laughing, Rheyine sighed and chewed thoughtfully. “I planned on going to Riverfall. I've heard there’s water that falls from the sky there. Not rain, but like a stream endlessly pouring off the side of a cliff. I wanted to see it. Blue men too, tall as trees!” It was such an adventure, but the twinkle in her eyes wasn't about blue men or water from the sky. “And fish. Oh Finian, the fishing that could be had between ports would be amazing. Can you imagine?”

[Finian Truewind]

Ian laughed as the other blonde corrected him, shaking his baubles head with a smile. He watched the flames flicker off the fog for a few minutes before adding,

"I ain't much of a city person, no. I don't feel like the Flotilla's a city like Syliras or Riverfall's a city, that's for petchin' sure. Svefras jus' live different. At least the Flotilla moves on the sea. Feels good. Cities don't move. It's not the same." The air hardly moved in Syliras, but at least Riverfall had some atmosphere to it, with the Bluevein spilling over the cliffs in some magnificent show of Laviku's grace into the bay. He'd seen the city, sure, but he found the blue men the size of trees more intimidating than impressive. But, in the end, Laviku's realm was his home and it was difficult to be contained anywhere but in the ebb and flow of the tide.

"Riverfall's quite th'sight, I ain't gonna lie," the itinerant shipwright offered, having enjoyed watching her pick the fruit out of her little dried cake. His was long gone, of course. It'd been a few seasons since he'd visited the city for the first time, by accident, with the same Vantha he'd plucked from the sea, "Those blue-skinned menfolk may be s'tall as trees, but they're about as thick'eaded, too."

He smirked at that, remembering the beautiful city was full of so many rules. How folks could live happily crowded and kept from doing what they wanted was completely beyond the itinerant shipwright's comprehension. It just wasn't the way life was meant to be lived, if anyone bothered to ask him.

The blond Svefra laughed, rolling his freckled shoulders into a casual shrug. The rum had begun to seep into his thoughts, warming his insides against the clinging winter chill of the fog and bringing a bit of color to his sun-kissed cheeks. The firelight was muted by the mist that had crept into their make-shift shelter under the archway, and the darkness beyond their camp was a blur in his vision. He studied the young woman he shared a meal with while she finished her fruit cake with a thoughtful smile. Laviku had an interesting sense of humor, crossing their paths after such a storm.

Her excitement over fishing opportunities was somewhat lost on the shipwright, but at the same time, he knew his interest in Riverfall craftsmanship and lumber would have been just as lost on her.

"But, aye, I've heard there's some good currents 'tween here'n'there. Prob'ly some fish I've never even seen before out there!" He grinned, "As long's they taste good an' don't swallow ships, I'm alright imaginin' them."

Ian's hand reached for the bottle of rum again, fingers tracing along the glass thoughtfully before he took one more swig. He exhaled slowly, relaxing into the sand and the heat of the fire. Winter's chill would surely swallow the little islets in another ten-day or so, and he knew he wouldn't be finished with all the repairs needed to get Rheyine's casinor seaworthy again.

At least they had his ship for shelter once the arch wasn't enough.

He blinked to keep his mind from drifting too far into distracted thought, realizing he'd been studying the blonde woman a bit too long to be polite. A bit more color rose to his cheeks then,

"So, uh, what part o'the Suvan's the Stormchaser's sail'n'fish? Up north? D'you follow a current through the seasons?"