28th Day of Cylus
717th Arc
717th Arc
This bay was bigger than the other one in the Hollow Ocean. Synnefa it was known as, named after the benevolent Immortal Xiur, it led out towards the Hollow Ocean from the arctic city of Viden. The port of Almund could barely be described as a bay in the same way, however. There was a dip, of course, but it was much more violent, for it had no protection from the winds All Delta would see of the land was darkness against the white - many trees: pines and evergreens among them.
The boat, too, was bigger. Twelve feet long from the stern to the bow. It had a mast, with rigging flying high up to the viewing platform. There were benches along the sides, and a hatch housing a half-flying, half-jumping insect the size of a butterfly that kept making rounds. It would not leave, even when chased with an oar. The smell of wet varnish, intermingled with the briny scent of rotting vegetation at low tide—how strange, that such an odoriferous combination would always evoke pleasant memories, a sense of security, and comforting thoughts.
The Valiant had recently been re-painted. All of the crew had mucked in, and Delta had even been allowed to help out. The Captain was a delightful man, though the sailor Delta has had a run-in with a few trials ago was just as witless and abrasive as he had been last time. But he was easy to ignore, in favour of the rest of the crew, who had warmed to the biqaj-turned-slave.
Though the Valiant remained moored on that overnight visit, Delta felt the joy of having dinner in the cozy dining alcove as the sun lowered over the horizon. She wouldn't forget how, as they sat huddled around the table, the Captain told his crew and guest a story of his misspent youth aboard ships. The comforting illumination of the running lights and lanterns of other boats in the river beyond the marina as they swayed in the gentle waves are still fresh in my memory.
The haunting sound of the Valiant’s cable gently clanging against her mast throughout the night was comforting to a child of the seas, like Delta. “When are you leaving?” The slave asked quietly. For the first time in around 3 arcs, Delta felt like she was at home, even though she wasn’t quite back on the ocean.
“Tomorrow, my child,” the Captain spoke just as softly, an edge of sympathy entering his voice as his eyes trailed across the silver scar on the young woman’s neck. Delta had not shared anything of her history - not even the name of her father’s trading vessel - to the crew. They had seen enough to know that she really was one of them, despite her current situation. Though she was desperate for news of her father, Delta knew she could not return to him; she did not want him to see her like she was now. He would be horrified. “You are welcome to come with us, Delta, if you wish.”
The boat, too, was bigger. Twelve feet long from the stern to the bow. It had a mast, with rigging flying high up to the viewing platform. There were benches along the sides, and a hatch housing a half-flying, half-jumping insect the size of a butterfly that kept making rounds. It would not leave, even when chased with an oar. The smell of wet varnish, intermingled with the briny scent of rotting vegetation at low tide—how strange, that such an odoriferous combination would always evoke pleasant memories, a sense of security, and comforting thoughts.
The Valiant had recently been re-painted. All of the crew had mucked in, and Delta had even been allowed to help out. The Captain was a delightful man, though the sailor Delta has had a run-in with a few trials ago was just as witless and abrasive as he had been last time. But he was easy to ignore, in favour of the rest of the crew, who had warmed to the biqaj-turned-slave.
Though the Valiant remained moored on that overnight visit, Delta felt the joy of having dinner in the cozy dining alcove as the sun lowered over the horizon. She wouldn't forget how, as they sat huddled around the table, the Captain told his crew and guest a story of his misspent youth aboard ships. The comforting illumination of the running lights and lanterns of other boats in the river beyond the marina as they swayed in the gentle waves are still fresh in my memory.
The haunting sound of the Valiant’s cable gently clanging against her mast throughout the night was comforting to a child of the seas, like Delta. “When are you leaving?” The slave asked quietly. For the first time in around 3 arcs, Delta felt like she was at home, even though she wasn’t quite back on the ocean.
“Tomorrow, my child,” the Captain spoke just as softly, an edge of sympathy entering his voice as his eyes trailed across the silver scar on the young woman’s neck. Delta had not shared anything of her history - not even the name of her father’s trading vessel - to the crew. They had seen enough to know that she really was one of them, despite her current situation. Though she was desperate for news of her father, Delta knew she could not return to him; she did not want him to see her like she was now. He would be horrified. “You are welcome to come with us, Delta, if you wish.”