Chapter 2: Raiders

The morning dawned calm and quiet. It was difficult to believe there'd been such a storm the night before. Frederick sighed to himself, pacing the brig from stern to prow, taking in the damage and scars.

'Tears in the sails, a snapped line or two... yet her hull is in strong shape. There may yet be potential in how this ship was built...' He let the thoughts trail off, when no other damage jumped out at him. If anything, the ones who had taken the brunt of the hurt had been the crew. Most of them now slept below, sprawled across hammocks.

As for Chrom... he may have shown strength by carrying the girl and shrugging off his trip in the ocean. But he'd still collapsed into his bed, once they'd reached the sanctuary of the cabin. Regardless of the risks Chrom took, Frederick hadn't the heart to wake the young man. Particularly when a stroke of luck and Lissa's sharp eyes guided them to this sheltered cove.

'Nothing pressing or urgent. Let the others sleep and gather their strength again.' He leaned against the railing, allowing himself a moment of calm and relaxation as well.

Not that there was much to observe. Going by the charts, they were still well away from the capital. That was assuming the storm hadn't blown them further off course, with how suddenly the clouds had pounced on them.

"A little ocean gazing, sir?" Came a soft voice. And despite the whisper, it still did an admirable job of making him jump. It was just as well that he did twitch into action, given a stumble interrupted the shuffle of footsteps. His hand snapped out and caught Sumia by the shoulder. The young rigger had lost whatever agility she had up top, now that she was on flat ground. Nearby he could see the culprit; a stretch of rope that her feet had still somehow found their way to.

"I see our quartermaster is as agile as ever." Came another voice. Virion had also stirred early, and walked the deck in an easy manner.

"...Aye. But what brings you up?"

"Shift change, sir." Sumia supplied. "I-I'm on morning crew as well, you know. And I want to keep the ship running as smoothly as it does under your watch."

"The young lady was also a touch jumpy from the blow we took last night. Couldn't get out of bed fast enough, and that had a way of rousing me as well." Virion stretched for effect. "Still, a morning as calm as this was worth rising early, to see such a fair mist decorating the hair of the young ladies-"

"Alright Ruffles, that's enough outta you." Sully's voice cut in next, and her mailed hand whirled Virion about. "If you have time to flap your lips, you have time to see to the ship."

A brief smile quirked Frederick's lips. So the rest of the ship was beginning to stir, despite weathering the storm. He even glimpsed Lissa up and about uncommonly early. But her greatest oddity was how she checked over the sides of the brig.

And around the Shepherd, the mist was beginning to lift.

"Well, in that case I'm glad to tell you that everything lies well. Let's hope we don't have any more misadventures." Frederick said.

"Even if they end in more lovely maidens?" Virion asked.

"...Mmm. I could honestly do without that." Frederick didn't bother to mask his scowl. "I'm not certain HOW we crossed paths with that castaway, or where she might have come from. We hadn't encountered any other ships the entire day. Our patrol path was designed to take us into the border waters."

"...Y-you're suspicious of her? Why?" Sumia looked the world like he'd said something unkind about a kitten she'd found. Or that he'd suggested they toss her back into the sea.

"Only because I have no answers or information about her. Don't you find it the slightest bit suspect, that she was caught in the storm in such a state?"

"'Tis not my business to cast suspicions about fair maidens, my good sir. Only to comfort them if need be. Particularly when placed in such an awkward situation of compromised modesty. And with wary quartermasters doubting their virtue!"

"The only virtue I'm concerned with is how honest or trustworthy she may be." Frederick sighed, pinching at his nose to quell any irritation he had at the archer. It didn't do to get on Virion's bad side when he was about to make breakfast.

"Well yes I guess that's true," came Sumia's voice. "But... I guess that's why I also think it's exciting! At least, a GOOD sort of exciting and mysterious, much more than that storm. I don't think she's in any danger of sinking the ship, like that weather last night was."

The hum Frederick gave in the back of his throat showed he doubted that. But at least he could be wary enough for the entire crew, much as they might upbraid him for it.

"A-anyway, I didn't want to distract either of you too much. And I guess we should get-" Sumia paused, narrowing her eyes. Frederick turned to glance over his shoulder.

The bowsprit stretched behind them, acting as a long finger that pointed to something slipping between the rocks. It was a dark smudge of a shape, against the green and gray islands. But it still glided across the water, smooth as any ship.

And it WAS a ship. Squinting, Frederick could pick out that much. It matched their own brig mast for mast... although he couldn't help but notice that one of theirs was a splintered affair. The mast appeared to be held together by patchwork and prayer.

"...Did they run afoul of the storm, too?" Frederick doubted the words the second he said them. There was something about the tattered quality of the sails that suggested battle wounds instead of weather.

"Half a moment, half a moment." Virion answered, the archer producing a spy glass from his doublet. He extended it and brought the device to his eye in one step, coming to a stop at the gunwales.

"...Always well prepared, I see." Frederick commented, but kept his voice down. The archer was already humming in concentration and murmuring under his breath.

"My, my. We seem to be in less than pleasant company."

"...Explain." Frederick phrased that between a request and an order.

"Well, I'm picking out gouges in the hull; something a storm couldn't do, at the angle they're set. It looks as though our mystery ship has picked up some sort of shot damage along the way. That's reflected in the tatters of her mast and sails and- oh."

Virion made a tsking sound.

"I don't care much for the look of her crew at all. Rough looking fellows, badly in need of a tailor. But they make up for it in terms of arms..." He trailed off, and Frederick blinked when Virion held the spy glass up in front of Frederick's own face.

"...I leave it to the Voice of Caution to make the final call, and perhaps assuage my fears. But they look to be..." Frederick all but glared through the spy glass. He saw what Virion meant now; the men walking the deck were in patchwork clothes, but held weapons of superior make. And held them at the ready, looking set to fall upon anything they found...

And then, out of the corner of the glass, he saw another ship. A tiny little single mast affair, huddling in the shadow of an island and trying not to be seen. Beyond it was a fragment of a fishing village. Every inhabitant there must have been holding their breath, praying they'd be passed by. The angle of the other ship cast that hope into sharp doubt. He yanked the spyglass back, right as a breeze moved through the islands. It set the broken ship's flag to stirring... and displayed a fearsome insignia on it. A scarlet flag, with an impression of six eyes and crossed bones.

"Plegian pirates!" He snapped the words out in a curse. "Daring to prey on ships and towns in our waters!"

He twisted about, pushing the spy glass into Virion's hands.

"I take it breakfast will be on hold-?" Virion started to say, when across the harbor a shout went up. The pirate vessel had spotted their own ship... and decided they were a juicier target than a small fishing sloop.

"Rouse everyone!" Frederick shouted the order. "Crew, to your battle stations! We've traded fighting the sea to fighting pirates! To arms!"

-o-o-o-

Chrom twisted about, the bed sheets tangling his limbs. He was half aware of them, though the rest of his mind was mired in sleep and odd dreams. The bed beneath him seemed to fade out, as did the entire ship, leaving him to fall into the ocean.

It wasn't a hard fall this time; more akin to a gentle tug, a welcoming embrace. He slipped into the sea in a wash of bubbles, which numbed any pain in his shoulder. The world turned a gentle blue, wrapping him in water.

It wasn't like drowning, either. His breath still came easily in and out, ignoring that water replaced air. In the faint blue, he caught an impression of great, tall structures looming up, shrouded by the distance. He swore that there were other shapes flickering about them; roughly human sized.

'A city? An underwater city? How-?' He thought, tilting his head to the side in curiosity and trying to swim towards the sight. Such a thing could only exist in stories, yet there it was, drifting tantalizing before him. When he stretched his arm out, he caught sight of the brand on his shoulder. The tear drop shape glimmered with white light, illuminating the ocean around him like sunlight shining through waves.

A sound stopped him short. Notes of a song brushed his ears and rose from the depths; massive as a whale, with the same curious hum. He could almost, almost pick out words. But in a language he'd never heard before. It sank into his thoughts, tempted him to open his mouth and build a hum in his own chest-

The song cut out when he tried to gather breath. And suddenly the water turned unbreathable, flooding his lungs. Instead of floating he was sinking, the blue turning to black.

And when he tried to struggle, something thudded into his ribs. A sharp jab of pain sunk into his side, pulling him deeper. He felt his nerves burn and tingle from a bolt of energy, and he swore that for an instant he heard a crackle of thunder-

Chrom's eyes flew open with a gasp. He bolted upright, the sheets falling around him. His gaze darted around, taking in his cabin. The ship; he was still on board it, not sinking or drowning in the ocean.

His breath eased out in a sigh.

"...Gods, that storm took more of a toll on me than I thought." He murmured to himself, combing his hair from his face. He swore that his bangs were still damp.

'...The girl.' The thought drifted into his head, much like the stranger from last night had drifted in on the tide. That got him out of bed, casting about the dimness of his cabin. His clothing was still stretched out, mostly dried. He pulled it on, trying to remember what had happened after they'd been pulled from the ocean.

He'd brought the stranger inside, and Frederick had taken over, carrying her to one of the stern cabins next to his own-

Before he could reach for the door to check, it burst open. The gap brought in a murky, dawn light that nonetheless made him blink.

"Milord!" Frederick's voice banished any confusion from his mind. There was an urgency to the knight's words that instantly set Chrom on edge. "I see you're ready; all the better. We need you outside... I fear we've only had a lull when it comes to danger. There's pirates ahead of us. I'll explain as we move."

-o-o-o-

She woke up to her skull trying to split open. Something had been wrenched and torn forcefully from her head, without much care for what happened afterwards. Her mind was a mess, her body only twitching as she tried to get it to move. Her limbs were lead, and she had to roll herself out from where she was resting.

When her feet hit the floor, she almost pitched forward. Her head swam, the cabin pitched around her-

'Cabin?' She twisted around; somehow she'd found herself inside, even if she couldn't remember why or how. And trying to think back threatened to split her head open and send her stumbling to the ground.

Instead, she cast about with her hands, trying to find something solid to grip onto. They found a chair, over which a set of clothing had been draped. And from the chill her skin was taking on, she found herself in need of it. Though her hands shook, she managed to pull shift and slacks on.

'Now what?' Despite the stillness of the cabin, there was still a need for her heart to race, for her pulse to quicken. She needed to be ready to run from-

From something. Even if she couldn't say what.

So when a crash sounded from outside, her feet were all too ready to make her jump. Panic surged into her, the sudden spike of adrenaline making up for her wobbly balance. Shouts and curses drifted into the cabin, along with a strange ringing sound.

'S-steel?' Her shaky thoughts provided. 'It... that has to be the clash of steel.'

She found herself staggering forward, towards the source of the noise, instead of away. Hiding pushed a sick feeling into her stomach; whatever was waiting for her out there, she had to do SOMETHING about it, instead of cowering.

'You can't fight barehanded,' her thoughts advised, though they didn't provide much else. Not what to fight with, so it fell on Robin to search the cabin. She felt her way around, fingers blindly searching for something they could hold and use as a weapon. All the while she took steps towards the door, wondering at the pain lingering in her feet.

She didn't have time to dwell on the twinges of hurt. Not once her hands fastened around a spar of metal that balanced well enough in her hand. She barely had time to test its balance, her legs determined to carry her forward. Towards the clash.

She almost fell as she slammed a shoulder into the door and forced it open.

-o-o-o-

Red streaked the deck, trying to stain and seep into the wood grain. Already a few bodies had been lain across the planks, still as a gutted fish. Those bodies didn't belong to any of his crew; Chrom knew that with just a glance. And since these raiders had already made it clear they were out for blood, Chrom couldn't bring himself to care about the deaths.

Falchion clashed with a raider's sword, sending sparks flying but not breaking the blade. These pirates hadn't bothered with long range combat. Instead they closed with his ship so the raiders could leap aboard.

Chrom spun Falchion in his grip. The blade glimmered, the gold of the hilt no doubt drawing more greedy eyes towards him.

"Looking forward to looting that pretty little blade from your body, boy. You won't be needing it, soon enough." The pirate in front of him taunted. Chrom's opponent wore his scars like trophies, and carried gold medallion coins around his neck. A high ranked man among the pirate crew, then. Possibly even the captain.

Even though his sight narrowed to the corsair in front of him, Chrom heard the combat ringing out from other quarters. He'd glimpsed Frederick wading in to help some of the crew, laying about with his silver-chased spear as though it weighed nothing at all.

Chrom danced, moving around one of the outlaws who tried to rush him. He let the pirate charge past him, reversing Falchion for a stab. The steel glinted, only to stain red as it punctured the man's ribs. The pirate collapsed with a gurgle, and the others shrank away from Chrom. He saw their eyes glint; still hungry, but now with a touch of caution in their gaze. Three of the pirates drew around him in a rough triangle, flitting in the corners of his vision.

Each one took a turn at testing and wearing away his defenses. He caught the first corsair blade with a rattle of steel, scattering the droplets of red still on Falchion. The second blade darted past his cheek as he danced to the side-

The third drew a line near his collarbone, the sword edge opening up his skin. A trail of blood mingled with his sweat, heat and pain both blazing from the wound and leaving him slow. Chrom flinched away from the attack, and felt a burning lance spread from the wound and down his arm. Falchion went heavy in his hands.

'The dastards know how to wear someone down.' His teeth grit, and he dodged backwards, avoiding the other two swords. His counter stroke came too late; they'd dodged away from him and now worked on tightening the noose again. Their faces were smug, now that they'd drawn blood.

They'd cut him off from the others; beyond them he saw the other crew, trying to reach him but too caught up in their own fights. He'd have to stand on his own.

"Bleed him dry, lads!"

Another rush. This time he saw the flicker of attack, before it landed on him. He cut out with his sword, Falchion making a glimmering arc and finally struck home on one of the raiders. A spray of red arced from a cut across the chest, deeper than what Chrom had taken. The man collapsed to his knees and dropped his sword. The hit slowed Falchion, and Chrom's side screamed in pain as he tried to twist away from the pirate on his left. But he moved too slow, the man's dagger drawing a line on his ribs.

"Like a stuck pig-" the man taunted, before Chrom's elbow smashed into his nose, sending him staggering and cursing. But the last, scarred pirate captain was still bearing down on him, and Chrom was moving too slow. His side pulsed in pain, making his arm sluggish and Falchion heavy in his grip. Chrom braced, eyes on the sword and knowing it was going to hurt when it landed-

The strike halted, as something moved between him and the sword. A shriek of steel told Chrom that whatever had blocked the sword, it wasn't meant for fighting.

He blinked. In the time he'd flinched, someone had moved between him and the pirate. They'd used the attack's momentum to deflect it, and turn the strike aside. Then the fighter lashed out in a counterstrike with a desperate yell. He caught a glimpse of snowy, white hair; the same as the girl he'd helped to pull aboard last night.

An odd CLUNK of a noise sounded, when her weapon struck the pirate across the head. The man fell, stunned, and his impromptu rescuer backed up, still brandishing her weapon.

'Wait.' Chrom blinked and got a second look at what she brandished.

"Is... is that a soup ladle?" The same soup ladle Sumia had bought and stored in the stern cabin, at that. There was no mistaking that shape, much as the new comer tried to hold it like one would a two-handed sword.

"That's a type of sword, isn't it!?" She said, sounding more than a little uncertain about her claim. Given that there was still a battle around them, Chrom didn't have time to argue the point.

His rescuer chanced a look around, now that they had the briefest amount of breathing space. From the way she frowned, she must have seen no one else was fighting with soup ladles. She bent down and picked up a sword from the corsair's nerveless fingers, opting to use that instead.

"R-right. Right, I'm ready." She tried to put some confidence into her voice.

He and the stranger both charged the flanks. A shockwave seemed to spread through the pirate's ranks, from the force of the strikes.

Next to him, the stranger staggered in her sword swings. His breath stilled when she almost dropped the sword, catching it and adjusting her grip at the last second. Her hand struggled to keep its grip on the hilt of the blade. Every shiver her of fingers showed how unfamiliar she was with the weapon. She wavered dangerously, feet slipping over one of the ship's brass circles, and muttering something under her breath.

Something that sounded like an incantation.

Her eyes flew open, the only warning Chrom had before the air sizzled around her, charged with energy. A bolt of gold-tinged magic leapt from her hands and cut into the ranks of the soldiers. It spat and forked in the air, leaving behind a faint, electric taste reminiscent of the prior night's thunderstorm.

"A spell caster..." Chrom murmured, staring at the sparks. It was no easy feat to channel without the need of a tome. Either she had an extraordinary talent for it, or was well trained. But even so the spell casting still took a toll on her, with how her eyes glazed over. Her shoulders slumped, as though crushed by the weight of the very air. She almost pitched forward, spent from her casting.

He didn't even think about twisting about and wrapping an arm around her to stop her fall. He tensed his sword arm, waiting for a counter strike now that he was exposed... but it never came.

The stranger's spell had sliced into the ranks. Chrom swore he could still see traces of gold light where the magic forked and split into a chain of lightning. Those who still had their feet staggered, barely able to raise their weapons.

Nearby, he saw Miriel and Lissa both breaking from the fight. They turned this backs to the chaos, instead facing the pirate ship. Fire bloomed across their palms, their feet shifting and then planting at a specific spot on the brig. One they'd been trained to find during combat maneuvers.

Maribelle dashed to join them in the cast, the fire gaining strength and heat.

For a breath, the dawn turned brilliant red.

The spell fire rushed from their hands and enveloped the pirate ship in a full broadside of magic. Timbers blackened and splintered from the impact, and the entire vessel seemed to lurch from the force of the blow.

Looking away from the onslaught of fire, Chrom saw the remaining pirates were all scrambling to retreat. That last blast of magic had shattered their morale.

"Flee! Flee if you don't want to end up as food for the fish!" The captain had picked himself up from where he lay prone, and was the first to vault over and swim. The other pirates weren't far behind. Before Chrom could find room to lay the stranger down and give chase, the pirate ship had broken off and limped away from them.

"Sire, shall we put them to chase?" Frederick spoke, already cleaning the blood from his spear. Chrom glanced about the brig. Corsair cutlasses had sliced some of the ropes, and one of the sails had been cut adrift, flapping uselessly in the wind. He ruefully shook his head.

"We'd wear ourselves to the bone, trying to catch them... and our first worry must be to see to our own. Any injuries?"

"Apart from yourself, sir?" Chrom winced at that. He supported the exhausted stranger against his shoulder, but that apparently didn't obscure much. Frederick's trained eye picked out the threads of blood staining his clothes. "We've taken a few wounds, though nothing our two healers shouldn't be able to fix. With your permission, we can sail to the fishing village to check for damages. And reassure them that they still have Ylisse's protection."

"...Y-Ylisse...?" Came a murmur at Chrom's shoulder. The woman tried to lift her head, but her whole back shook from the effort.

"If it's all the same to you, Frederick, I think we have one more that needs to be tended to." Chrom murmured.

-o-o-o-

"...Alright?" A voice pierced through the fog coating her mind. Followed by a hand shaking at her shoulder, though with a gentle grip. "Are you alright? Hey!"

The touch and voice did the job of drawing her out of the haze, and she gave a slow set of blinks, eyes trying to remember how to focus. Her sight eventually cleared and focused on a face hovering above her own; one framed with cobalt hair and matching eyes.

'Like the sea.' The thought hummed through her, something oddly comforting about the comparison. A slow smile worked its way onto her lips, and for a moment she thought the stranger returned it. But that vanished when a memory surged into her head.

Her arms twitched and her legs kicked out, as though she was still battling the waves. They hit only air, but that didn't end her panic.

"Th-the sea! I... I rescued you? Or you rescued me?" She stammered out. She forced herself to focus on his grip, hoping that would stop her shakes… with mixed results. At least her limbs weren't convinced she was drowning any longer.

"Well... actually it was a mutual amount of saving. I think we both came out even. But I'm glad you can speak now; you gave me a scare when you almost passed out, after the battle. I'm guessing fighting for your life can take it out of you, if you're not used to it."

She found herself nodding at that assessment, his words reminding her of everything she'd just fought through. Her legs were a wobbling mess, and she had to lean against him as he pulled her up from a resting spot. She stubbed her toes on wood planking, and her mind finally identified the deck of a ship.

"Still, I think some thanks are in order, for what you did." The blue haired stranger continued. "So, thank you; both for pulling me from the water, and for the fight..." He trailed off, favoring her with a quick grin. The way he smiled he looked equal parts hopeful and expectant. "Though I don't know your name."

"I..." she tried to answer. But her throat went dry, her mind flashing to emptiness. Panic filled her, as she searched desperately for a name.

'Who... who am I!?' The thought blared. Her balance gave out completely. In that instant her legs and feet felt like complete strangers, and ones that wouldn't answer her. She pitched forward, staring at the ship's floor rushing to meet her-

Only to stop short, something pressing into her stomach and tugging at her shoulders. Her eyes found a pale gloved hand holding her up, the same as the one on her shoulder.

"I- I don't..." she gasped out. "I don't know..."

"Hey, hey. It's alright." The man told her. "It looks like you had a real shock."

"Y-yes." Something pressed at her back. The man had maneuvered her to a seat built into the rear of the ship, encircling the deck in a crescent shape. The cushions held her up, soft enough that she almost floated. "But why don't I-?"

She winced at the pain building in her head, blinking when a pair of hands came up to hers and pulled them away from her face.

"Maybe I can help you a little? We found you drifting in the ocean. You must have been cast overboard somewhere, or washed out to sea by the storm when it hit the shores."

"I... I remember swimming," she admitted. Her toes curled, sending a strange, pained twinge up through her legs. "But... past last evening, everything's a blank."

"Woah!"

Robin yanked her head up at the new voice, to see a girl in a yellow dress and man in armor walking towards them. She could faintly remember seeing the two from last night... although she'd been staring up from the sea, instead of being at almost eye level. "I've read about this, though I've never seen it firsthand!"

The girl continued. "Amnesia! You've lost your memories, probably through some sort of trauma-"

"...I'd advise caution, milady Lissa. We're taking it on good faith that this woman claims to remember nothing."

"...Wary as ever, aren't you." The girl, Lissa, grumbled. The man in armor looked ready to continue, only for the blue haired man to raise up a hand.

"Frederick. Please hold on your interrogation for now. I trust you saw at least a little of her fight? The fact is, I owe my life to this woman. And given her aptitude with spells, the Shepherd could use another mage gunner such as her."

'Shepherd?' She blinked at the name, but didn't dare raise her voice. The armored man, Frederick, was digesting the words of her defender like they were a bitter brew he'd been forced to drink.

But at last he gave a nod.

"...Very well. And the fact is, there are more pressing issues. The rogue storm from last night and the pirates are worrying enough. Still, I've checked with the village, and they seem safe for now. It seems we were blown here in time to forestall a catastrophe. And... I suppose she played no small role in helping with that." He bowed his head to her. "Though I will ask your patience, if I remain uncertain of your motives."

Her companion sighed, but motioned for Frederick to take the great wheel close by.

"ALL HANDS TO STATIONS!" Frederick bellowed in a voice that made her start. "We make for Ylisstol at all haste!"

The ship swarmed with activity, great sails raising up and almost touching sky. Wind caught the canvas and pulled her out into open waters.

"I hope you don't mind coming along on a sail, for the time being." The blue haired man continued, taking a seat next to her.

"N-no, not at all. Thank you, though. For helping me, Chrom-" she stopped short, staring at him. His eyes widened as well, though a smile quickly took its place.

"Ah, so you DO know of me." She shook her head.

"No, I... your name just came to me, somehow. One more mystery." Yet one he didn't seem that bothered by.

'Chrom.' She tried the name again. It seemed to suit him. But what didn't suit him was the lost look in his eyes, looking almost sad that he didn't know hers.

"I..." she focused, trying to get past the pain lurking in her head, and grasped something. "I... I think I'm... Robin?"

His smile brightened at that.

"It's a good name... Robin."

She bowed her head low, showing the top of it to Chrom. Her hands mirrored the bow, pressing together so her fingers faced the floor. By instinct, her feet followed suit, pressing together and turning so they curled forward into a point. It was just as well she was sitting, because even that gesture threatened to tip her over.

But it felt important, as a greeting.

'Showing you mean no harm. That you offer your head to him, and that you can't swim away.' But when she lifted her head, Chrom seemed a bit confused by the motions. Apparently it was a gesture he'd never seen. Instead he extended his hand, holding it out for her to take, and shaking hers when their palms touched.

"I'm certain now, my name is Robin. So... hello to you, Chrom."

-o-o-o-

Sand brushed at her cheek, where she lay cradled her in a makeshift bed. Lucina curled into it, thoughts still swimming even though she was at rest. Overhead the water rippled, its surface warming from the sun. The dreary gray that draped the ocean in a shroud had burned off, turning everything bright.

The light coaxed her eyes open. She was still alone, her only company was the bubbles pushed from her gills.

But despite the emptiness, the ocean was far from silent. There was something faintly echoing in her ears, the barest murmur of sound. It kept her thoughts sluggish, the words unintelligible, and encouraged her to drift off again. She could drown in that sound alone -

The sound cut out of her ears, and in the deafening silence her eyes flew open. The wane sunlight and ring of blue vanished above her, replaced by a shadow. It cut a wedge through the light, leaving a rippling wake behind it.

'The ship?' Her thoughts wrenched themselves out of torpor. Her body followed. The silt billowed out underneath the strokes of her tail, pushing her upwards. Even with something pushing the ship forward ('wind' her thoughts decided) she had no trouble keeping pace with it.

And though she wasn't certain why or how, it was imperative she followed that ship. The vessel drew her, as surely as if there was a line connecting her and the humans on board. Their two-legged forms were just visible through the rippling waves. And she vowed to keep her eyes on them, through the voyage both above and below water.