FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

In The Mist Of The Erie Isles

By Mantrid Brizon

Episode Ten: Malaise

As the sun sets in the distance, hiding behind the curvature of the vast ocean, Steingar leans against a section of railing near Trellan's cabin, standing on the main deck of the ship. He turns his golden eyes toward the sails, marveling at the automated craft. The Arona-Dahl had opened her own sails and turned them toward the wind. The modest breeze pushes them along, taking them away from the tiny spit of land that had been the home to Valan and Jarae for the past three days. Instead, it moves them toward another minor island, about a day or two away.

Removing himself from his post, prompted by the chill that rushes through his spine, the Helngar warrior walks slowly and aimlessly around the deck. Passing the mast at the very bow of the ship, something catches his attention. Jarae, the Jaliscan woman whom they'd recently brought aboard, leans against the portside railing and stares into the horizon with her shimmering, pink eyes. She was just out of his view, obstructed by the thick mast and the darkening skies. With her long, slender tail swaying, the Henlgar's eyes are drawn to her perfectly formed buttocks.

Leaning into her forearms, which rest against the railing, her ample and full, C-cup breasts are pushed up, against her chest. Her body is the image of feminine beauty, with a subtle, hourglass shape; a sloping ribcage and a thin waist leads to her broad hips. He can't help but find her pleasing to the eye, as she likely is to other things as well. Jarae's long, tapering ears, which crown her head, slump forward. They match the appearance of her brow; she looks quite melancholy. Straightening her back, Jarae runs her red painted claws through her wild, pink hair, pulling it away from her short snout.

She suddenly turns, noticing the Helngar's gaze. Caught in the act of admiring her form, Steingar straightens as well, holding up a hand and waving politely from across the deck. Her shimmering eyes scan him from head to toe. With her lips curled into a subtle frown, she doesn't even acknowledge him before she quickly turns and walks away, heading below deck.

“Yeah..." He sighs, leaning against the ship's railing. “Nice to meet you, too."

He stares into the horizon for a moment, watching the navy waves and their thin, white peaks. A gust rustles the sails, bristling his medium gray and burnt orange fur, and sending another chill down his spine. Shivering, he moves away from the railing, heading for the watertight hatch that leads below deck.

“Exploring the ship?" Trellan asks, emerging from his cabin.

“Mostly escaping the cold."

“Understandable. I'm sorry that I don't have any clothes that'll fit you. I've never had much mass to me." The slender Vizhek chuckles.

“It's alright."

Heading below, Steingar looks around the hall, near the stairwell. He pokes his head into the lounge, seeing only Mairlynn and Kirsta as they prepare a late dinner together, just inside the galley. Neither woman notices him silently poking his head through the archway. A strange noise reverberates throughout the hall, drawing his attention. He makes his way past the various rooms, many of which have since been claimed by the Arona-Dahl's guests. Digging through the oaken chest, which sits within the miniscule cargo hold, at the very bow of the ship, Valan collects an armful of artifacts.

Moving from the opened chest and to a room that he's claimed, directly beside the cargo area, on the portside of the ship, he carefully sets the boxes on the floor. Leaving his new room, Valan passes Steingar with nary a word. The Helngar warrior leans against the wall, watching the human intently. The long-haired man, with average features and a considerable goatee, moves as if he's been possessed by a spirit. He acts without words, his eyes half-closed and staring straight ahead; his body is present, but his mind is many miles away.

Kneeling down before the oaken chest again, recovered from the crippled fishing boat, which they'd abandoned on that nameless isle, Valan resumes his excavation. He collects several more of his personal belongings.

“So, are you glad to be back?"

“I'm glad to be off that island." Valan dryly murmurs.

“I see... ... What's all of that stuff?"

Valan pauses, his arms buried inside of the chest. Glancing back and over his shoulder, he turns his eyes toward the Helngar, who stands shirtless, and in the same uncomfortably undersized breeches that he was given by the jailor on Mernak.

“What's your name again?"

“I'm Steingar."

“Right. This is just a bunch of my personal stuff. Vasariks, clothes, knickknacks, inventions and the like."

Resuming his focus on his previous task, Valan collects a small coin purse, attaching it to his belt. He then retrieves a large roll of what appears to be animal hide, and a small bellows.

“Things I've constructed over time. All that I have left in the world..."

He retrieves the pure silver chalice, the beautiful and ornate cup that had once belonged to his cruel and abusive father. Steingar sees the artifact, a piece of treasure unlike any the soldier has viewed before. His golden eyes grow wide as he contemplates it's value in a city market. Valan glances back yet again, as though he can feel the creature's hungry gaze.

“And this is one of my very favorite things. Steal it, and I'll shoot you dead, with my two other favorite things."

“I was just... Admiring it..."

“Uh-huh... Here."

Reaching into the chest, Valan retrieves an old, gray cloak. He tosses it at the Helngar, who catches the bundle as it softly strikes his chest.

“I don't remember why I put that in there, but you can have it. You're going to want to hide as much of your body as you can, before Mairlynn tries to get at it."

“Too late." Steingar sighs, slipping on the cloak.

“I'm sorry."

“Maybe if she didn't look so much like a human child, it wouldn't be so weird to... Well..." Steingar flashes a sinister grin.

“That goes without saying." Valan speaks in a soft, melancholy voice.

“Settling in, I see?"

Trellan approaches the pair from across the hall. Rising to his feet, Valan uses an elbow to close the lid of the chest. It slams shut with a loud thump. He's claimed all that he's interested in keeping for himself; the rest he's donated to the Arona-Dahl, a requirement for their stay aboard Trellan's ship. Nodding at the old Vizhek, Valan moves past the blue-skinned elf and back into his new room. He sets his remaining articles aside before unrolling the hide sack, and attaching the bellows to a special port at one corner.

Trellan and Steingar watch curiously as the human pumps the bellows with his hands, slowly inflating the sack. It very gradually takes on the appearance of a moderately sized mattress. After several minutes of uninterrupted silence, watching Valan pumping air into his mattress, the human realizes that they haven't gone; he's still being watched. He turns his head, glancing toward the pair, who stand in his doorway.

“I realized that bedding is often the most unsanitary thing in a home. Full of bedbugs and who knows what else. Most peasants still use straw! I invented this as a replacement, and hopefully an affordable one. I'm still testing it, though." He explains.

“Interesting!" Trellan chirps.

“Is it comfortable?" Steingar asks.

“Surprisingly so. It's like sleeping on a cloud." Valan faintly grins, taking a modicum of pride in his work.

“Well, it's nice to see that we have another inventor aboard." Trellan remarks.

“Indeed. I'm assuming most of this ship is your doing?" The human turns his eyes toward the old Vizhek.

“She is. She's my masterpiece." Trellan sighs, looking around the room in admiration at his handiwork. “Maybe I can show you how she functions sometime?"

“That'd be nice." Valan murmurs.

“Aren't you two cute." Steingar chuckles with his deep voice. “Does that mean that tight little thing you came aboard with is available?"

Valan stops mid-pump, his arms lowering as he glares at the Helngar. Seeing the expression on his face, a silent yet loud display of his displeasure, Steingar's amused grin swiftly fades.

“Ahem... I was uh... Just... Kidding..." He murmurs.

“Right... Do what you want, whoever you are." Valan growls.

“I'm Steingar..."

“Whatever..."

Feeling the tension in the air, Trellan excuses himself before quickly departing and heading for the main deck. Steingar, clearly offended by Valan's disregard, also takes his leave. The Helngar makes his way through the hall and into the lounge, while Trellan climbs the stairs and returns to the upper deck. Mairlynn immediately takes notice, shifting her interest toward Steingar as he storms angrily into the room; his large, three-toed, digitigrade feet thud loudly on the floorboards. She swirls around in her seat, turning her little body toward him.

“Hai!" She chirps, waving excitedly.

“Nnnn..." Steingar grumbles.

“Making friends already, I see?" Kirsta smirks.

“Yeah... How could you tell?"

“By that happy look on your face!" Kirsta sarcastically replies.

Steingar slumps into a bench seat, across the room from the large dining booth where the women sit, eating their meals. Mairlynn abandons her plate and slides out from the booth, walking softly on her little feet toward him. Sitting beside him, she slides closer, all while Kirsta watches with perverse amusement.

“Are you okay, big guy?" The little Falmun sweetly asks.

“That guy is an ass." Steingar grumbles.

“Which one?" Mairlynn cocks her head.

“The ugly, long-haired one."

“He's not ugly!" Mairlynn retorts, sounding offended.

“Personal opinion, but he's still an ass." Steingar insists.

“Aww, I know. I'm sorry about Uncle Kobin." The little elf coos.

“Where'd you get that cloak?" Kirsta asks.

“Er... From the asshole."

“Did you not like the color?" Kirsta snickers.

“You poor thing!" Mairlynn scoots closer, pushing her side against his.

“It's not that. I made a little joke about that woman he came aboard with and he suddenly got an attitude!"

“Don't worry about them." Mairlynn rests her hand on his muscular leg. “Especially not that flea-bitten skank. You have so many better options."

Giving his groin a squeeze, she feels his manhood through his breeches. Startled, Steingar bolts up from the bench.

“Don't do that! What's wrong with you?!"

“Oh, come on. You know you liked it." The little elf giggles.

“I, uh... Er... I hardly even know you!" He retorts.

“So? I-I mean..." Mairlynn rises from the bench, approaching him with an innocent gaze. “You always could! I'd like to... Get to know you."

Steingar backs away, shaking his head. He looks appalled by her behavior. Wandering out of the lounge, Mairlynn glares at the archway.

“Smooth." Kirsta silently chuckles.

“Shit..." Mairlynn sighs.

Walking backwards from the lounge, Steingar slams into someone. Stumbling, he spins around to find Jarae steadying herself. He'd walked into her as she came up from the lowest deck.

“I'm sorry!"

“Watch it, jerk!"

“It was an accident. I apologize. I'm Steingar by the-"

“Yeah, whatever." She grumbles.

Pushing past him, the angry looking woman makes her way into the lounge, all without giving him a second glance, or even a first. Her disinterest is as plain as the nose on the tip of her snout. Though he was brought aboard by Trellan, the Arona-Dahl's owner and builder, he can't help feeling like a fifth wheel. Moving through the hall, he casually glances through an opened door to his left. He pauses when he sees Irzain, standing near the glass of his room's sole porthole. The human looks deep in thought, gazing through the window and into the darkness in utter silence. Steingar slowly approaches, the thudding of his heavy footfalls drawing the middle-aged human's attention.

“Oh, hello... Nice cloak."

“Thanks."

“Steingar, is it?"

“Yeah."

Irzain approaches, a little smile forming on his bearded face. He extends a hand to the much taller Helngar warrior.

“A pleasure. We were never properly introduced."

“I guess we have been now." Steingar replies, weakly shaking the human's hand.

“Are you alright?"

“Do you really care?"

“I wouldn't have asked if I didn't." Irzain retorts.

“... You don't want to have sex with me to, do you?" Steingar eyes the man with suspicion.

“What?!"

“Never mind..."

Steingar steps inside of Irzain's small room, walking toward the porthole. He leans over to peer through it, as he's considerably taller than the little window.

“I feel really out of place here..." Steingar begins, gazing into the abyss. “The only people who've been remotely welcoming are Trellan, who rescued me, and that creepy child-woman... Oh, and you, of course. It's such a strange feeling, to not belong."

“Yes, I know." Irzain says as he sits atop his cot.

“Do you?" Steingar snickers, looking back and over his shoulder at the man. “To go from being a dedicated warrior, a bloodforge with fifteen kills in one battle, to nothing? Do you know how it feels to transform from a respected and well-liked man into a traitor, literally overnight?"

“Well, I don't have a similar story, but I know the feeling of not belonging. I don't even have a past to compare."

With a furled brow. Steingar steps closer.

“What do you mean?"

“I was shipwrecked on an island, Kirsta's island. I had a bad head injury and was bleeding out. I did my best to bandage myself and wander the land, where Kirsta and her warriors found and rescued me. They took care of me and healed my wounds, but I still don't remember who I am or how I came to be there. The injury stole it all from me. The crown seems to want me, and I don't even know why."

“Really?!" Steingar gasps.

“Yes. In fact, you're the first Helngar I've seen, to my recollection at least." Irzain continues.

“Huh! So, you have no memory of your life before?!" A fascinated and curious Steingar sits beside him.

“No. I may have some bits and pieces; I've been having these strange dreams lately, about a woman." Irzain continues, running his fingers through his short, brown hair.

“Was she pretty?"

“She seemed to be, to me. I recall feeling... Well... I cared for her quite a bit in those dreams."

“Was she blonde? I like blondes. If Kirsta wasn't such a hardcase, she'd be much more appealing." Steingar remarks.

“Her hair was more black... And purple."

Steingar's golden eyes widen in surprise.

“A noble woman?!"

“Maybe." Irzain shrugs.

“Pale skin?" Steingar grins, beginning his own fantasy.

“Uh... Possibly, beneath her fur."

Steingar's expression swiftly changes. His eyes scan the human, who only now realizes that perhaps there was something amiss about his dreams.

“I've never seen a purple Jaliscan..."

“Does that mean there aren't any?"

“You were with a Helngar, weren't you?"

Irzain silently nods his head. Steingar brings a clawed hand to his face. The black keratin rakes the medium gray fur of his muzzle, stroking his sloping mouth and sharply angled chin. The black nostrils at the front of his broad snout flare as he inhales, taking a deep breath, which he releases slowly.

“Is that not good?" A worried Irzain asks.

“You really don't remember?"

The human shakes his head in response.

“No, it's not. Miscegenation is... Highly frowned upon, and not just by the crown. Nearly everyone, of every race, is disgusted by it." Steingar begins.

“What about the Falmun? I've seen Falmun and humans together, and Mairlynn certainly doesn't discriminate."

“She doesn't need to; she's a slut." Steingar snickers. “And certainly not against humans!"

“I don't understand." A confused Irzain scratches his head.

“As far as the Vizheki empire is concerned, humans and Falmun occupy the same level of their social hierarchy. It helps that the two races also look so much alike, at a glance, anyway. It's not abnormal for humans and Falmun to spend quite a bit of time together, if you know what I mean." Steingar winks.

“Yeah, I do." Irzain murmurs.

He swiftly recalls when Valan abandoned him in a tavern, to sleep with Kat, a Falmun wench.

“They're possibly the only two races that can interbreed without causing a serious problem. Helngar are the Vizhek's favored race for their army; we're considered superior to both humans and Falmun in basically every way." Steingar explains, almost boastfully.

“Is that why I see so many human soldiers?" Irzain retorts.

“There are far fewer of my kind; most stayed home, back on the mainland. Trust me when I say that Vizheki Generals would much rather have one of me over twenty of you... No offense."

“None taken."

“The Jaliscan are at the very bottom, and so hardly anyone mixes with them. That is to say, they can often be found as cheap tavern whores, but marriage and children? Heh... Most would sooner dig up a corpse for that purpose." Steingar continues.

“But not you?"

Steingar pauses, raising a brow in surprise.

“I was in here the whole time. I overheard your little back and forth with Valan." Irzain reveals.

“As I said, I'd gladly bed her... Repeatedly! ... But... N-not to say that there's anything wrong with her! It's just... Well..."

“I suppose that's why you're superior." Irzain scoffs.

“I've seen almost every race in quantity, and all of them are capable of equal levels of good and evil... That being said, I was born and raised in the Erie Isles, to two soldiers who would've died for the crown. One of them did, in battle, when I was a boy... Twenty-four years of rhetoric... Some things are hard to overcome, regardless of what logic tells me." Steingar speaks softly, visibly ashamed of himself.

“At least you're trying... What about the Lahnyt?" Irzain suddenly asks.

“The skin-tails?" That's what some of us would call them, because they don't have any fur, just a smooth, dense hide, like a dolphin's skin."

“Yeah."

“You hardly ever see them. The Vizhek don't seem to care either way, though I did meet one, once. He was some sort of temple monk, or a scribe, of considerable rank. That entire race seems to have this strange religion; they only have one god. Hah! Can you imagine that?! They also don't conform to anyone else's opinions about race, least of all the Vizhek's. As for why they don't seem to be a part of the Vizheki caste system, I honestly don't think there're enough of them in the Erie Isles for anyone to discriminate against." Steingar replies. “You didn't have any dreams about one of them, did you?"

“No."

“Because that wouldn't have surprise me in the least!" Steingar chuckles.

“You're losing me." Irzain shakes his head.

“Oh, right. Amnesia... Well, the Lahnyt are somewhat notorious for their... Openness... I think it comes with their strange religion. A Lahnyt will gladly be with whomever they choose, regardless of race, right down to marriage and breeding. That and their odd behavior makes most people give them a wide berth."

“I see."

“However, if I were you, I'd keep your Helngar woman to yourself, for your sake. The wrong person might look for a proper length of rope if they found out."

Suddenly, Kirsta's disgust and Trellan's amusement make all too much sense to Irzain. Mairlynn was also well aware of this potentially dangerous dream, and yet the devious little elf not only kept him in the dark, but spread the story against his will.

“I, uh... I might have let that slip." Irzain nervously scratches the back of his head.

“Oh... Well, you haven't been lynched for tainting our bloodline with your fantasies, so that's good! Still, don't share it further." Steingar warns.

“I appreciate the advice." Irzain faintly smiles.

“Call it a payment..." Steingar rises from the cot. “For being so welcoming with me."

After a moment of silence, Steingar, relieved from his talk with the polite and amicable human, wishes him a good night. Exiting the room, he makes his way across the hall, walking at an angle and toward his own quarters, gifted to him by Trellan. He pauses when he hears voices from a nearby room. The Helngar stops to listen, turning his head and bringing his swept back, tapering ear toward the closed door.

“What's the problem then? I don't understand." Jarae's muffled voice asks.

“I can see that." Valan's equally muffled voice replies.

“Aren't you interested?!"

“Of course! I just-"

“Then why can't we?!"

“Jarae..."

Valan's footsteps move toward the door, causing Steingar to move aside.

“I tried to explain this on the island. I'm not comfortable with that. I mean, I am but I'm not." He says, his voice a little louder.

“You're not making any sense." She grumbles.

“I know!" He sighs in frustration. “It's just..."

“It's because I'm Jaliscan isn't it?!"

Jarae whimpers. She sounds as if she's about to cry.

“You don't want me because of that..."

“That's not it at all! ... It's just... I believe that you're worth more than that, and I was hoping we could grow into our relationship."

“Relationship?!"

“Yeah."

“... I'm just hoping to ease the tension between us. Sex is great for that!"

“..."

Steingar silently chuckles, shaking his head as he creeps away from the door. He now understands why Jarae didn't ever look his way; she's been struggling with her own infatuation, as basic as it is. He makes his way into his quarters, without ever being caught by the pair. Lying back on his cot, Irzain stares at the ceiling of his little room. The sun has since sunk beyond the horizon, and only the flickering of a shielded candle lights his darkened quarters. He admires the soft, yellow-orange light as it dances against the walls. As he watches the humble lightshow, the human succumbs to exhaustion.

In his mind's eye, he paces nervously atop a stone balcony, overlooking a vast jungle. The trees are not from a temperate zone, but are lush palms. The massive fronds sway with the warm wind. They tower over the land, casting a shadow that's akin to the hands of the gods. Thumping feet and clicking claws draws his attention. He spins around and sees her. Wearing a flowing dress of shiny, turquoise fabric, the Helngar woman with purple and black, two-toned fur emerges from a stone archway. She races toward him, her arms outstretched.

“We have to go! We have to get to Bremen!" She calls out to him.

Throwing her arms around him, she trembles like a leaf in a strong breeze. It disheartens him, seeing and feeling her so afraid.

“Oh, no. You mean, you're-?!"

“Yes! Please, my love! Take me to Bremen!"

She squeezes him in her arms, tightly enough to push the air from his lungs. The Helngar woman loosens her grip, and nuzzles his face with her broad snout. Her soft fur grinds against the skin of his cheek, and is surprisingly comforting.

“Alright, darling. We'll go to Bremen."

“Thank you... I love you, so much."

“And I love you, too." He says, before softly kissing her cheek.

Shooting up, Irzain's body shakes. The sweat is chilled from the cool air within the ship. He rests his face in his palms, his fingers weaving through his damp hair.

“Okay... That didn't feel like a dream." He thinks aloud.

Rolling out of his cot, in naught but his undergarments, Irzain bolts from the room. His feet thump across the smooth, wooden floorboards as he makes his way toward the stairwell. Scrambling up the stairs, he emerges from the watertight hatch to be nearly blinded by the darkness of the night. The ocean reflects much light from the moon, but not enough to make up for the adjustment of his eyes. Only now does he realize that there's a light source, and not one of fire, that illuminates the interior of the Arona-Dahl. Stumbling across the main deck, as the ship sways in the breeze, Irzain bangs on Trellan's cabin door. Bang, bang, bang. He knocks hard and loud.

“Trellan?! Are you awake?! It's urgent!"

Bang, bang, bang. The latch lifts and the door slowly pulls open. A sleepy looking Trellan rub one eye with a closed hand as he looks down at the distressed looking human.

“What is it?" He grumbles.

“I need to speak to you."

“Yeah... Alright..."

Trellan moves aside, extending a hand and granting him entry. Irzain rushes inside, sitting in a chair beside Trellan's small, personal desk.

“Have you heard of a place called Bremen?!"

“Huh? Uh..." Trellan struggles to think.

“Bremen! Does that name sound familiar?!"

Yawning, Trellan holds up a hand, stopping the human's frantic rambling. He nods, covering his gaping maw with his other hand.

“Ahhh-yeah... I think so. Why?"

“Do you know anything about it?!"

“It's an island..." Trellan dryly retorts.

“Is it close, or is it far? Is it big, or small?"

“It's not very close, I don't think, and its name ends with an 'N', so no, it's not very big. Why do you want to know, anyway?"

“I had a dream..." Irzain replies, his voice steady, and deathly serious.

Finally waking up, Trellan's silver eyes grow wide. He sits in the chair before his desk, adjacent to where Irzain sits.

“Another memory?!" Trellan asks, growing excited.

“I think so." Irzain nods. “It uh... It had that woman in it again."

Irzain hesitates to speak further, recalling his talk with Steingar.

“What's that look for? ... Are you embarrassed?!"

“... I..." Irzain hesitates.

“Listen, I've been alive for nearly one hundred and seventy years. I've seen it all; wars, pestilence and death, prosperity, peace and love. I was already growing old when your father was barely old enough to pick his nose, I've probably met your grandfather, and your great grandfather might've been a schoolmate of mine. No one as old as me can still buy into that horse-shit that you hear those young, sixty-something Vizheks preach. If she was important to you, I'm not going to judge. In fact, I admire you for following your heart like that, considering what would've likely happened because of it. I just want to know what's the basis for this request."

“She and I... We love each other, or at least we did in my dreams. She said we needed to 'get to Bremen', and I agreed. If I was there, before my injury, people might know me. Maybe she's still there? ... I just really need to know."

A wide smile forms on Trellan's thin lips, and the old elf slumps back in his chair. Nodding subtly, he takes a deep breath.

“Okay!" He says, exhaling. “Let's check my charts."

Rising from his chair, Trellan approaches a barrel in his room and lifts the lid. He digs through scores of scrolls.

“I haven't heard that name in some time. It's might not even an official island anymore. I have maps twice as old as you. We'll find it."

“Thank you." Irzain smiles.

“Don't mention it."

Grabbing a handful of old scrolls, Trellan removes them from the barrel and heads toward a cluttered, dining table. Papers abound, as well as an uncleaned plate, which he'd eaten off of earlier in the day. Picking up an uneaten apple, Trellan takes a bit, cleaving a considerable chunk from it as he unrolls the scrolls. Irzain leaves his seat, helping him hold the corners. The old elf checks one scroll, and then another. By the fourth, Irzain begins to lose heart.

“Ahah! There she is!" Trellan exclaims, pointing at a tiny speck on the map.

“Bremen?!"

“Looks like it was an island as recent as thirty years ago; the last map, from the same region but ten years newer, doesn't list it. Abandoned, perhaps?"

“Why would I go to an abandoned island?" Irzain thinks aloud.

“An island abandoned by the crown isn't necessarily abandoned, if you know what I mean. That being said, I can only think of a few... I'm not a fan of the crown, but I'm also not a fan of..."

Irzain shifts his eyes toward the towering, blue-skinned elf. Trellan's silver eyes scan him, narrowed with some suspicion. Could it be that simple? Was he a pirate?! Shaking the awful thought from his mind, he reaches out a hand, resting it on Trellan's forearm.

“Please... I need to know the truth, whatever it may be. Would you take us there?"

“Whoever you were, you don't seem to be that man anymore... Alright. I'll set a new course, and we can break it to the others in the morning."

“Thank you!"

“But I need to warn you that Bremen is pretty far. With Arona's propulsors, we could make it in a week, but won't have the fuel. Honestly, I'd use sails only, and that'll take two." Trellan continues.

“That long?!" Irzain's heart sinks.

“We'll need to avoid strongholds and some of the major islands along the way; too much traffic to go unnoticed. We'll also need to stop for supplies, and probably more than once."

“Alright... Whatever we have to do. Thank you, Trellan." Irzain smiles.

“Don't mention it, gray beard." Trellan grins.

“I'm not that old."

“Go back to bed."

Patting Trellan on the back, Irzain heads for the cabin door. Letting himself out, he walks across the deck and down the stairs, sealing the hatch behind him. Pausing as he reaches the last few steps, he looks toward the hallway, leading to the quarters. Can he really go back to sleep after this? A grumbling in his stomach further dissuades him from thoughts of bed. Walking toward the archway, he enters the lounge, only to stop when he sees Kirsta standing beside the dining booth and gazing out of the windows.

“Kirsta?"

She turns, looking back and over her shoulder. She stands, wearing her only set of clothes, the turquoise garments that went beneath her leather armor.

“Hey, Irzain... Can't sleep?"

“No."

He enters the room, taking a seat at the booth.

“I had another dream, and now I'm too awake and hungry to sleep." He explains.

“I see..."

Kirsta sighs, returning her gaze to the shimmering wake behind the ship.

“I think I had another memory! I saw h-... I heard the name of an island." He quickly catches himself. “Trellan said we can visit it."

“That's good." She mutters.

“I was about to have a snack. Did you want something?"

“No..." She speaks in a near whisper.

“Are you sure?"

Kirsta doesn't answer. She stares at the water, a strange look on her face. Leaning over, he can see that her brow is soft and somber, her lips curled into a faintly visible frown. What startles him the most, however, is her eyes. Her sapphire orbs, vivid and beautiful, shine with an unusual glossiness; they're welling with tears. The silence is deafening, and an uncomfortable, invisible fog fills the room.

“So... Why are you up, anyway?" He asks, breaking the silence.

Kirsta lowers her head, as though she were staring at her feet. Closing her eyes, a solitary tear escapes them. It cascades down her cheek before dripping from her chin and onto the floor.

“... Bad dreams." She murmurs.