The trek from Ochako's house to the shore had not been as quiet as Himiko had expected it to be. None of them made an effort to be silent or stealthy as there was no need for it. The sounds of stomping feet, crunching leaves, and heavy breathing all mixed together into a wall of sound. Above that, Tomura's pained gasps and Dabi's soft murmurs could be heard coming from the back of the procession and Ochako–

Well, Ochako was making the most noise, but nobody faulted her for it. Every couple of steps she would trip on account of how badly her legs were shaking and since they had left the house she had not stopped crying. Izuku and Tsuyu had both tried to comfort her, but she had sent them away. Himiko, too, had tried but she had been met with the same dismissal. It occurred to Himiko as they continued towards the shore that Ochako wasn't just upset. This–what the rest of the group was witnessing–was much more than simply being upset. Ochako was breaking down before their very eyes.

Himiko remembered–what seemed like absolute ages ago but in reality had only been a few years prior–when she had finally worked up the nerve to run away. She had planned and packed slowly over the course of a week so that her parents wouldn't notice, and then left under the cover of night.

Her mother and father had never cared for her, let alone loved her. She was not even her father's own daughter, as he had mentioned quite frequently. Her mother had had to force herself to even look Himiko in the eyes.

They had done a good enough job providing for her as she grew up, she supposed. They gave her food, water, shelter and the like. Despite everything they had at least given her that. What they had taken, though, far outweighed what they had given. They had taken her heritage as well as her sense of being. Once they had figured out who–or what–had whelped her onto her mother, they had hidden it from her. They had let her believe that the natural things about being a selkie–having an intense longing for the sea, craving raw meat, getting intensely ill every couple of weeks (the kind of illness that would only get better if she was submerged in sea water)–were evil and should be hidden from the world. Himiko had been a smart child, though, and it did not take long once she began to catch on for her to figure out the truth. She still remembered the night she had first transformed and what she had had to do–the ritual she had to partake in–in order to be able to transform. She remembered the coppery smell of the blood, the slipperiness of the seal hide. She remembered the look on her parents' face when she came home the next morning, the pelt around her shoulders. She had been bathed in blood, baptized and made into who she had always been destined to be.

But her parents didn't see it that way.

She had been punished, and the pelt had been taken and buried beneath the oak tree on the very edge of their property. Himiko had waited and planned extensively, and when the night was right she made her move.

She had never looked back.

Her parents had come looking for her, begging her to come home and to conform to whatever live they had planned out for her.

The thought made her want to be sick.

But at least her parents had come after her. Ochako didn't even get that. There had been no signs that the Uraraka's had followed them. The door into that once peaceful little house had remained firmly shut.

"Ochako?"

It was Tsuyu that had spoken. She had ventured closer to Ochako again, in what Himiko assumed as another attempt to soothe her, or comfort her. Ochako did not respond, but kept moving forward.

"Ochako," Tsuyu tried again. "where are you going? There is no shelter on the shore."

Himiko saw Ochako's face crumble further as more tears fell.

"I–" For the first time since they had left the house, Ochako stopped dead in her tracks. The way her body was shaking was much more noticeable when she wasn't in constant motion. In this moment, she reminded Himiko of a plucked string, quivering after it had been struck. "I don't know–" Her voice sounded watery and thick.

Dabi cleared his throat and said, "Why don't you come to the Devil's Inferno?"

Tomura had gone white as a sheet, and his breathing was stuttered.

"It's the safest place to go. Tenk– Tomura," Dabi stopped and took a breath. "needs to be fixed up as soon as possible, and we don't have the supplies to do that here. It's just as easy for all of us to go together."

Ochako looked grateful, even as fresh tears fell from her eyes. She nodded slowly, and then gestured for someone else to take the lead.

The rest of the trek was uneventful, all things considered. Once they had started moving again–with Magne in the front and Spinner bringing up the rear–Ochako shook off Tsuyu's attempts at a sideways hug. Tsuyu's frown deepened, but Himiko could tell that she wasn't offended. She was just worried.

The rowboat was still resting in the dunes, just as they had left it, when they finally reached the shore. It was apparent, though, that there was not quite enough room for everyone.

"Alright," Magne said. "Himiko, Spinner and I will transform and swim back. Jin, I trust that you're good to fly back?"

"Yeah, that works! Oh I see, you're gonna make me fly. So much for quality service."

"Right, so the rest of you get in and we'll meet you back at the ship."

Spinner went about transforming–elongating and growing in size until he was twice the size of the rowboat and just as long, with sharp talons and a row of flexible purple spines along his back–as Himiko and Magne walked into the waves. Before Himiko transformed, she looked back at Ochako.

She was sitting in the very middle of the boat, with Eri in her lap and Tsuyu and Compress on either side of her. Himiko thought back to when she had first met Ochako in person–which, admittedly was not even a full week ago–and how she had stared at Himiko with a sense of fear but also a vast amount of curiosity and wonder. Now, even as Spinner became a full sized sea dragon right beside her, she only stared ahead–unseeing and numb.