Ashan 72, Arc 718
The gangplank rumbled under foot as the passenger's gradually boarded. It bobbed and Ellen grabbed the rope railing to steady herself, then after a moment she kept moving. The deck was loud and busy with all the preparations. People milled about trying to find a place out of the way as sailors bustled by and shouted to each other for more line or a helping hand to lift crates and barrels. Ellen ducked suddenly as a pole was hoisted and swung around, narrowly missing her head.
"Sorry ma'am!" one of the young seamen shouted over his shoulder as they hurried away.
The half-breed wasn't excited to be back on another ship, nor was she sure how she felt about going home. It was necessary, she knew--after she'd thought long and hard on the matter. Neither Etzos nor Foster's Landing were places she wanted to be. Not now, maybe not ever again. Everything had fallen apart after Orimar. Patrick was gone, and she couldn't begin to guess where. Her stomach still hurt just thinking about it. Gangui was causing chaos everywhere he went, and the man left a bad taste in her mouth. Then there was him. The other mutt that had not only deceived her but murdered her best friend.
Ellen's throat tightened at the thought of Niv and she took a quick, ragged breath. She touched the pouch at her hip that held the seed which--if the Tunäwä had been right--might very well be able to bring her back. It was another reason she needed to go home. The redhead had to find out if the magic was real. Could she speak to Ymiden personally? Or maybe Moseke? Would the other Tunäwä know about the seed? There were too many questions, but home held all the possible answers.
"Weigh anchor! All men, ready!"
The call rang out over the noise of the ship and the sprawling docks. Ellen stared out at the city a while as the ship pulled away, unsmiling, before finally turning to look out at the open sea. Everything that had happened since arriving in Foster's Landing seasons ago was finally behind her, but it would weigh heavy on her mind and heart for a long time to come.
Several breaks later
Everyone on the ship had just finished dinner, and things were settling down for the evening. Foster's Landing was far behind them now. All that was left was open waters. Ellen sat on the railing of the ship, feet dangling in the air. She was full and tired, but couldn't help feeling gloomy. As if a persistent cloud hovered over her at all times, she could never quite shake the melancholy.
"If ye' were anybody else I migh' insist ye' come down from ther', but I don' think ye' haff much ta' worry 'bout wit' fallin', do ye?"
She turned toward the voice, eyebrows rising in acknowledgement. It was an older gentleman--one of the sailors she'd seen working with the nets. He had a small bundle in his hand and a smile on his face. He was missing one of his front teeth, and his face was like a weathered old boot. The corner of her mouth turned up a little.
"No, I'd say not."
He seemed to take that as invitation, and she didn't much care either way. She'd have to be around these people every trial for a long while, so might as well play friendly.
"Do much fishin'?" he asked idly as he unrolled the bundle on the wide, flat railing. She shook her head.
"Ah, yer missin' out on one a' the greatest joys in life."
"I hunt," she offered, and he nodded sagely.
"I see from yer' clothes tha' ye must. All them hides and leathers, aye?"
She nodded this time, and he regarded her for a moment. His next words weren't spoken in any language she'd ever heard before. Her face crinkled. It sounded like a question, but the words were strange with a blunt and to the point sound. He asked another question, this time in a different language. It was higher in tone, more elegant, but also eerie--almost like a strange bird vocalizing.
"What?" she asked, brows furrowed.
"Ach, jus' checkin'. I was wonderin' if maybe I could guess where yer from is all. Never been ta' Athart then?"
"No..." She sounded suspicious now.
"Home ta' the Avriels, that is--Avriel and slaves." He shrugged and Ellen ground her teeth, trying not to glare and failing miserably.
"I'm not an Avriel. I'm Sev'ryn. I was born in Desnind. That's where I'm going." He regarded her for a moment, face unreadable.
"I see, I see. Recognize tha' accent now. Not meanin' ta' offend, miss."
Ellen looked down at the waters for a bit, and he busied himself with his tools. A spool, what looked like fishing line, some weights, hooks, and bait.
"What were those languages you spoke?" She couldn't help her own damnable curiosity. Out of the corner of her eye she could see him smile, and her nose wrinkled.
"Tha' first one was Dehasin. Language o' tha' slaves. Oft' spoke in Athart, but also elsewheres. My accent is'na ta' best, but tha' other was Lorien. Language o' tha' Avriel. Is a pretty thing, I admit. Not so easy ta' learn, but easier than Dehasin. Dehasin takes a long while ta' learn if it is na' yer native tongue."
"How many languages do you speak?" He shrugged and smiled.
"I don' look like ta' kind a' man to be so cultured, aye?" She blushed a little.
"That's not what--"
"Tis' okay, missy. I'm only teasin'. I prob'o'ly speak half 'o dozen or so." He shrugged again. "Ya' learn many things when ya' travel as long and far as me--an' lived so old." He winked at her, and she couldn't help but smile a little. "Now--back ta' more pressin' things. Ye say ye do'na fish, so I will teach ye some." Her smile stretched a little wider at the twinkle in his eyes.
"Really? With this?" She motioned to the tool he had set out in front of him and he nodded.
"These are fer handline fishin'--or jus' handlining some calls it." He handed her the beautifully carved stick. It was somewhat like a small club. "Tha' spool is like a pole. Line wraps 'round it for leverage, but ye can also use yer fingers. A stick is good too, but no flimsy twig. Somethin' thicker. Strong. Unless yer lookin' for tiny fishes."
Ellen turned the spool over in her hands. There were ridges cut into it, probably to anchor line, but otherwise it was relatively simple looking. Very smooth from what was probably arcs of wear, and as big around as her wrist.
"This is fer ocean fishes, so it has ta' be strong. Ta' line too, has ta' be heavy for big things. Lighter line is good fer freshwater fishes, like bass or bluegill. So ye put yer hook on ta' line, weight it if ye want wit' yer wee little weights here--" He demonstrated tying a knot on one of the hooks and attaching a weight to the line. "--so that ye can cast farther, and thar' ye have it! I like these cuz' I do'nna haf' ta' carry a pole and such. Light and easy ta' use anywhere. Would be good fer ye, I thinks."
She regarded him with raised eyebrows--an expression of not only interest but surprise. The old sailor was full of information, and he so easily shared it with a stranger.
"Thank you," she finally said, face relaxing into something akin to sincerity. "I will have to try it some--"
"No, no. Yer goin' ta' try it now, silly thing. Canno' have ye just watch me! Ye won' learn a thing! Come now, I'll show ye how ta' cast out and work tha' line."
The gangplank rumbled under foot as the passenger's gradually boarded. It bobbed and Ellen grabbed the rope railing to steady herself, then after a moment she kept moving. The deck was loud and busy with all the preparations. People milled about trying to find a place out of the way as sailors bustled by and shouted to each other for more line or a helping hand to lift crates and barrels. Ellen ducked suddenly as a pole was hoisted and swung around, narrowly missing her head.
"Sorry ma'am!" one of the young seamen shouted over his shoulder as they hurried away.
The half-breed wasn't excited to be back on another ship, nor was she sure how she felt about going home. It was necessary, she knew--after she'd thought long and hard on the matter. Neither Etzos nor Foster's Landing were places she wanted to be. Not now, maybe not ever again. Everything had fallen apart after Orimar. Patrick was gone, and she couldn't begin to guess where. Her stomach still hurt just thinking about it. Gangui was causing chaos everywhere he went, and the man left a bad taste in her mouth. Then there was him. The other mutt that had not only deceived her but murdered her best friend.
Ellen's throat tightened at the thought of Niv and she took a quick, ragged breath. She touched the pouch at her hip that held the seed which--if the Tunäwä had been right--might very well be able to bring her back. It was another reason she needed to go home. The redhead had to find out if the magic was real. Could she speak to Ymiden personally? Or maybe Moseke? Would the other Tunäwä know about the seed? There were too many questions, but home held all the possible answers.
"Weigh anchor! All men, ready!"
The call rang out over the noise of the ship and the sprawling docks. Ellen stared out at the city a while as the ship pulled away, unsmiling, before finally turning to look out at the open sea. Everything that had happened since arriving in Foster's Landing seasons ago was finally behind her, but it would weigh heavy on her mind and heart for a long time to come.
Several breaks later
Everyone on the ship had just finished dinner, and things were settling down for the evening. Foster's Landing was far behind them now. All that was left was open waters. Ellen sat on the railing of the ship, feet dangling in the air. She was full and tired, but couldn't help feeling gloomy. As if a persistent cloud hovered over her at all times, she could never quite shake the melancholy.
"If ye' were anybody else I migh' insist ye' come down from ther', but I don' think ye' haff much ta' worry 'bout wit' fallin', do ye?"
She turned toward the voice, eyebrows rising in acknowledgement. It was an older gentleman--one of the sailors she'd seen working with the nets. He had a small bundle in his hand and a smile on his face. He was missing one of his front teeth, and his face was like a weathered old boot. The corner of her mouth turned up a little.
"No, I'd say not."
He seemed to take that as invitation, and she didn't much care either way. She'd have to be around these people every trial for a long while, so might as well play friendly.
"Do much fishin'?" he asked idly as he unrolled the bundle on the wide, flat railing. She shook her head.
"Ah, yer missin' out on one a' the greatest joys in life."
"I hunt," she offered, and he nodded sagely.
"I see from yer' clothes tha' ye must. All them hides and leathers, aye?"
She nodded this time, and he regarded her for a moment. His next words weren't spoken in any language she'd ever heard before. Her face crinkled. It sounded like a question, but the words were strange with a blunt and to the point sound. He asked another question, this time in a different language. It was higher in tone, more elegant, but also eerie--almost like a strange bird vocalizing.
"What?" she asked, brows furrowed.
"Ach, jus' checkin'. I was wonderin' if maybe I could guess where yer from is all. Never been ta' Athart then?"
"No..." She sounded suspicious now.
"Home ta' the Avriels, that is--Avriel and slaves." He shrugged and Ellen ground her teeth, trying not to glare and failing miserably.
"I'm not an Avriel. I'm Sev'ryn. I was born in Desnind. That's where I'm going." He regarded her for a moment, face unreadable.
"I see, I see. Recognize tha' accent now. Not meanin' ta' offend, miss."
Ellen looked down at the waters for a bit, and he busied himself with his tools. A spool, what looked like fishing line, some weights, hooks, and bait.
"What were those languages you spoke?" She couldn't help her own damnable curiosity. Out of the corner of her eye she could see him smile, and her nose wrinkled.
"Tha' first one was Dehasin. Language o' tha' slaves. Oft' spoke in Athart, but also elsewheres. My accent is'na ta' best, but tha' other was Lorien. Language o' tha' Avriel. Is a pretty thing, I admit. Not so easy ta' learn, but easier than Dehasin. Dehasin takes a long while ta' learn if it is na' yer native tongue."
"How many languages do you speak?" He shrugged and smiled.
"I don' look like ta' kind a' man to be so cultured, aye?" She blushed a little.
"That's not what--"
"Tis' okay, missy. I'm only teasin'. I prob'o'ly speak half 'o dozen or so." He shrugged again. "Ya' learn many things when ya' travel as long and far as me--an' lived so old." He winked at her, and she couldn't help but smile a little. "Now--back ta' more pressin' things. Ye say ye do'na fish, so I will teach ye some." Her smile stretched a little wider at the twinkle in his eyes.
"Really? With this?" She motioned to the tool he had set out in front of him and he nodded.
"These are fer handline fishin'--or jus' handlining some calls it." He handed her the beautifully carved stick. It was somewhat like a small club. "Tha' spool is like a pole. Line wraps 'round it for leverage, but ye can also use yer fingers. A stick is good too, but no flimsy twig. Somethin' thicker. Strong. Unless yer lookin' for tiny fishes."
Ellen turned the spool over in her hands. There were ridges cut into it, probably to anchor line, but otherwise it was relatively simple looking. Very smooth from what was probably arcs of wear, and as big around as her wrist.
"This is fer ocean fishes, so it has ta' be strong. Ta' line too, has ta' be heavy for big things. Lighter line is good fer freshwater fishes, like bass or bluegill. So ye put yer hook on ta' line, weight it if ye want wit' yer wee little weights here--" He demonstrated tying a knot on one of the hooks and attaching a weight to the line. "--so that ye can cast farther, and thar' ye have it! I like these cuz' I do'nna haf' ta' carry a pole and such. Light and easy ta' use anywhere. Would be good fer ye, I thinks."
She regarded him with raised eyebrows--an expression of not only interest but surprise. The old sailor was full of information, and he so easily shared it with a stranger.
"Thank you," she finally said, face relaxing into something akin to sincerity. "I will have to try it some--"
"No, no. Yer goin' ta' try it now, silly thing. Canno' have ye just watch me! Ye won' learn a thing! Come now, I'll show ye how ta' cast out and work tha' line."
