• Closed • The Irony of Life and Karma [Venora]

[Freya DuCarinos]

○ Common ○ Rakahi ○ Pailtic ○ Hussian ○

30th Trial of Ymiden, Arc 717

Ymiden had given way to warm days within Rynmere and any amount of travel saw nature flourish lively in the embrace of the summer season. Even Andraska seemed more open with the woman, smiling more, conversing more— he was much more open than Freya and his energetic personality drew everyone to him like moths to a flame. Even the distant Ne’haer girl.
She found her days filled with lavishing luxury. Her sweet tooth was almost always satisfied and her cravings for drugs quenched quite readily. The way her attention made the Venora Lord react gave Freya hope that maybe she could find a home here. At first, it was a simple temptation to keep hold of these luxuries, but Andraska had been too kind to her and as such, tempted her to planting solid roots where she lay.
His servants would still followed her, and while she loved being as grossly inappropriate as the Lord, she found humor lacked from her shows whereas it always sprouted from his. The Biqaj didn’t care as much anymore. It was easy to get use to this way of life.
Visiting the market place often, Andraska would provide her with enough gold to fetch what she desired, but tasked his servants to ensure she never purchased anything dangerous. Which is why she lacked a health set of the sharp and pointies that would normally be strapped within her boots, waist, sides, and back. She also lacked any sort of leather barrier between the air and her skin. Instead, her weapons were replaced with jewelry, oils, and perfume, and her clothes— fine fabrics so soft, they melted over her body to catch the breeze. Her hair had grown to drape over her back and the tattoo she’d purchased in honor of the things she’d lost burned brightly in the sunlight, it’s red-orange design appearing fiery and frightening.
The marketplace was buzzing with activity, as it would be in Ymiden. Freya decided she would attempt to cook tonight and so, plucked some ingredients from the stalls, exchanging gold for them. She took no notice of those around her as she knew to expect no familiar faces within the crowds, though sometimes she wished it.
The servants escorted her back to Lord Venora’s estate after a few short breaks, and she went about preparing the meal with little success. She’s planned to do a simple salad and roast dinner. Preparing the salad was easy enough, washing the veggies to later dice them into edible size before throwing it all into a bowl. Then came the roast. She was told to season it before putting it on the spit to cook, but was unfamiliar with how much of the seasoning to place. So she lathered the meat in it till her nose burned from the smell before putting it on.
Of course, the meat burned due to her lack of attention because of the lovely drugs her keeper purchased on her behalf. It kept her backed so well, she mistook the smell of burning meat for the scent of a burning blunt and was sorely disappointed to find the charred crust of a meal in its place.
Groaning, she took the meat off and made her way outside before tossing it to ground. Andraska’s pet would enjoy it if she could not. Shutting the door without locking it, Freya waved off the meal, finding that Andraska hadn’t come home yet, and ventured to her room.
The drugs brought on an exhaustion that saw the woman curl up on top of the sheets, having not removed her clothing, jewelry, or shoes while the breeze from the open double doors pushed its way into her room. Sighing upon its gentle caressing, Freya faded into sleep.

She gasped, reeling forth. Hands grabbed hard at her shoulders and while her mind tried to tell her it was Andraska, her body rejected that assumption. It was on full alert. The man behind her grunted as her elbow swung back and connected hard with his nose. Another turn saw her leg swing up and her foot connect to his thigh. Freya had missed his groin.
Those same hands force her into the bed by her neck, trying to secure something around her wrist and it was then Freya realized that he’d managed to tie rope there. That must have been what woke her.
“Get off me..!” She breathed, anxiety flashing. “Get off me!”
The man said nothing, trying to tame her free arm but Freya wouldn’t go without a fight. Quite easily, she turned hard into the mattress so she was facing the intruder, but the shadow of the room concealed his face too well to make out features. In an instant, she jerked hard on the attached to her wrist, cupping her hand only to swing it against his head and ear. It dazed him, causing his body weight to shift off her. That was all she needed to stand up quickly and ram his body into the wall, head first.
His hand released the rope, Freya taking the opportunity to make a break for the door. But she only got as far as opening it before the intruder yanked her back into the shadows and something heavy collided with her head…

Freya awoke momentarily, the gentle rock of the room she was in queuing her brain to recognize she was on a ship. But why? She couldn’t figure. Maybe Andraska’s “little friend” had stolen her for whatever purpose. Maybe this might have been a cruel joke played by the Lord himself. Freya hoped to believe the latter but she knew better. No. This was a bad situation and she’d been kidnapped…
The noise of shouts and splashing water echoed from above deck just a few bits later. Then, even sooner, light shined on her face and it was then, Freya realized there was a bag over her head. Really? Feeling the ties on her wrists, the biqaj knew they were just loose enough to squeeze her hands threw if she was willing to rub them raw to do so. Strong hands grasped her and, faking sleep, threw her limp body over a sturdy shoulder.
“I’ve got her. Get on the ship.” A familiar voice told, causing Freya to stiffen slightly. Why was that voice familiar?
Other shouts and hands later and the woman was placed against wooden railing while a crew busied themselves around her. Freya had been kidnapped onto a ship…
“You want her in the cabin?” The same voice called out. “I’ll remove the ties then, let her give your ass a beatin’.”
That voice was now crouched in front of her, and she could feel the string of the bag working around her neck, loosening till just the moment light blinded her and Freya jerked forward. Her forehead smashed into an unknown face and she heard the man fall against the deck before she was overwhelmed by others.
“Hey!”
“Get him up!”
“What the sard?”
One voice after another assaulted her ears and all Freya could struggle in the bindings. She only managed to free one hand before her arm reached out and clawed at an unfamiliar face, grasping him by his beard and pulling hard. “Why am I here?!” She yelled, yanking the man as she too was being pulled back. They were trying to separate them but she pulled harder. “Tell me where I am scab, or I will kill you first when I am free of this foul prison!”
In the end, they had to cut his beard off him to get her away. A burly man tossed her over his shoulder yet again, taking her through several doorways before finding a particular large one and stepping inside. He took no care of her, tossing her to the bed, and left rather quickly. The slam of the door, as well as the lock sliding into place, told her she was stuck wherever they’d stashed her.
Quickly, the woman worked the rest of the restraints from her body and looked around. This wasn’t just any room they threw her in, she guessed. It was being lived in by another, and quite spacious and homey at that.
Where the sard was she?
Freya cursed and swung herself from the bed, her dress sliding over her legs and tugging at the sheets as she left them to lean into the door and listen. She couldn’t hear anyone…
Another curse…
Slipping from the door after a moment, she shifted to the wall and waited for when it opened again, ready to fend off whomever brave enough to step through.

[Wendell]

It would be almost two hours before anyone entered the room, during which time Freya would have been able to explore the captain’s quarters, a spacious room with a comfortable bed, table, chairs, a writing desk, and decorative windows along the back that let in plenty of light through the small paces of coloured glass. There were half empty wooden shelves built into the walls littered with books and nicknacks, and an open map on the table, weighed down with molten candles, big enough to double as a queen sized blanket. Parts of the world were etched in rough detail with ink, the coast of Rharne, Ne’haer, and Rynmere all sketched to a relatively good likeness. On the south of the map in the middle of the ocean, four stars signified the way to Blackbrine, but no words denoted the details of their reason for being there.

Two chests at the end of the bed were packed with clothes, one of which concealed a simple dagger. If nothing else was certain, the fact that this room belonged to a man would be, all of the clothing in the chests far too big for a woman, and the sheets had a certain smell about them, a musk only a man could conjure.

Wendell had gone to the docks expecting to find Freya’s ship there, and been disappointed to see it sailing off towards the galleon, which appeared to be preparing to set sail. From the shore of Rynmere he could see the white sails falling, and cursed his men. If they were leaving without him, they would live to regret it. The schooner, however, was returned to the docks some time later, and Wendell jumped aboard to find a few of his men looking rather disheveled.

“What the fuck happened to you?” he asked Haraji.

“Found someone I think you might like to see.”

“Is he going to bust my nose too?” Wendell laughed.

“She might,” Haraji told him.

“She?” Wendell’s smile fell away and his shoulders dropped, but with relief or acceptance, he wasn't yet sure. “Freya?”

“You think anyone else could do this to me?” Harahi asked.

Wendell had to sit down. He took a deep breath, she was alive, the witch had been right. A knot formed in his insides and tightened uncomfortably. She wasn’t going to be happy, then again, he thought to himself, she still had her boat, so maybe she might. “Where was she?”

Haraji shrugged. “Living in some Venoran shithole playing dressups.”

Shithole, he knew, meant the lap of luxury. Wendell smiled, Freya was going to skin one of them alive, and it was safe to say it would probably be Haraji.

“What are you smiling like that for you little sard?

“Because you're terrified of her,” Wendell said.

“Horseshit. I ain’t scared of nothing.”

It was true, Haraji didn’t scar easily, but Wendell had seen him shaking in his boots once before, he knew that look. “I like the nose.”

“Fuck you!” Haraji spat, and Wendell laughed again.

Aboard The White Raven, Wendell gave an order for the men to set a course south. Their destination was Rharne, to return their other captive to the witch, but how would Freya take the news? They were sailing back to the city she was meant to be executed in. Wendell turned some sand out of his boot over the side of the boat, and made sure the schooner was secured behind them before venturing towards his quarters.

“Get to work!” he hissed at the men gathered about his door and waited until they were out of sight before taking the key and putting it into the lock. The wind whipped through the billowy sleeves of his shirt, racing in through the deep v that revealed a small slice of his strong chest and a smattering of light hair. The white shirt was pinched at the waist, tucked into his leather pants, a sash tied about his middle over a leather belt that played host to a sheath with no weapon held in it, the same weapon he had left in the bottom of his clothing chest.

Wendell entered the cabin, keeping enough space between himself and the door in case Freya had chosen to jump out from behind it. Not seeing her, he spoke in a firm, yet gentle tone of voice. “Freya? Its Wendell.” he stepped inside then and pushed the door closed behind him.

[Freya DuCarinos]

○ Common ○ Rakahi ○ Pailtic ○ Hussian ○

Of course, after several bits, the woman realized no one would be returning to let her loose from the room she was locked within. A disgruntled groan sounded from her as her fist banged against the wall, fury in her mind as she thought about the Lord left back in his estate. Would he wonder where she was? Would he know? Would he try to find her? Freya couldn’t count on that, her instincts told her. She had to figure this out for herself.
Hands and eyes inspected every inch of the room from the shelves, to the sheets, to the maps, to the chests. It did come to her attention that a man lived in these quarters and she came to wonder if this was actually the captain’s room. But why would they dump her in the captain’s quarters and what could someone want with her? It was Rharne and escaping prison all over again. Freya was being taken again and for unknown reasons by unknown people…
A break passed before she’d turned up the room fully and found nothing to explain who she was dealing with. The only odd things she found were books on language and Rakahi, giving her the impression that she was dealing with someone not of biqaj blood, but that was it.
The next break saw her testing the windows with the dagger she’d found at the bottom of a chest, trying to pry the frame around them open. Most of them didn’t budge, but there were two windows that squeaked open from a metal latch. They were tiny and not wide enough for her body to squeeze through. With what she could see outside the window, there was nothing she could use to climb above and so, closed them back up with a frown. How was she to escape this trap now?
There was nothing she could do but wait till whomever occupied this room returned to it. So she stood, looking out the stain glass windows with the dagger concealed against her side. As time passed, she started to hear bodies outside the door but ignored them, settling against the wall so she had clear view of the door.
Then the lock sounded and she was on her feet, but she didn’t move. What were they going to do with her?
It squeaked open and from the shadows of the hall, Freya stiffened as a man entered the room, looked solid and tall. The dagger came out then and she started to approach the man as he stepped in, aiming to cut him with haste, but her wrist was caught, somewhat willingly, as she frozen and dropped the blade.
Gasping, Freya’s red eyes quickly bled green as she yanked her wrist away like his touch was fire. Stepping back quickly, she put a hand up— as if the gesture created some barrier against him.
He stepped further into the room and sure enough, with the cast of sunlight on his features, Freya saw Wendell standing there. Backing away from him further, she bumped into the table with the map and slid around it.
“S-Stay back.” Her voice wavered. “He’s dead.” Freya quickly explained, her other hand grasping at the tattoo on her shoulder. “Stay away from me..!”
As he would attempt to explain, the woman would look shaken completely. Vulnerability would flash in her expression while tears would prick at her eyes. Then she would approach him and rip his shirt up to gaze at the scar on his side, where he was stabbed, and she would fall to her knees as her fingers slid from his flesh. Shock kept her frozen in place until she could find her voice again.
“Wendell?” She whispered, her accent thick. “Why..?”
Tears fell from her eyes as she looked to him, her eyes shifting from green to bright blue. “Why are you here? Why aren’t you home in Rharne?”
“That is your home, Wendell. Why are you on this ship, in this life, why have you kidnapped me? What are you doing?” She collected herself from the floor and fled from him once more, anger radiating from her stance.
“You had a home in Rharne! Why are you here?! Why am I here?! Why’ve you taken me from my home when I’d put this behind me!” Tears of anger and guilt, shame and happiness fell down her red cheeks and she gasped.

[Wendell]

Having managed to stop her blade, their eyes met for the first time after the long spell of their untimely separation. Her eyes still confused him as much as they ever had, but he found himself pulled in, and took a step closer, even while she fled from him. The blade rattled against the wooden deck of the floor, and Freya went to her knees, crumpled by her own disbelief.

It wasn’t long before curiosity struck, and she raced at him to pull up his shirt in a hurry, checking for the scar that remained. The sight of it made his skin burn and his insides contract, the memory of the pain of that day remained with him even now. That was the day he had failed her… lost her, to Gorroc and his thugs, a man he would hunt to the edge of the earth if he had to.

“It's me,” Wendell confirmed by pulling the neck of his tunic to reach his left shoulder, his tattoo exposed briefly before he let go and the fabric settled again.

Freya’s look baffled him, was she not happy they had come for her, that she was free? His brow knotted, disposition stern. He had given the order for the men to track down Freya, thus he alone was responsible for whatever she was feeling now. She asked why he wasn't in Rharne, why he was on this ship, why he had taken her from her home. Her home? Wendell’s confusion was mounting.

Her home? Rynmere was her home now, what happened to family and loyalty, and the symbol she had etched into his skin meaning something, the same one that wound about her left arm? He would pick up the dagger and cut it off right now if he was wrong. He stood, shaggy, his shirt unraveled, and his hair slicked back where his fingers ran through it.

Her home. Wendell scoffed.

He took up the dagger and slammed it into the table, cutting a hole in the map, right over the southern coast of Rynmere, as if to say that was what he thought of her new home. He kept his hand on the hilt of the dagger, positioned only inches from her. “Fuck your home!” he hissed, tone harsh and wild eyes pinning her where she stood. “This!” he revealed his tattoo again, “this is your home!”

“And this,” he gestured to their surroundings as he took a few steps back to stretch out his arms, “is my ship.”

Did she still need him to tell her what he was doing here, or had that become obvious? Wendell went to the door and threw it open. “And if you don't like it,” he spat, “your boat is right there.” Wendell folded his arms, no one would stop her from leaving, not even him.

[Freya DuCarinos]

○ Common ○ Rakahi ○ Pailtic ○ Hussian ○

In the heat of the moment, Freya shifted uncomfortably when Wendell suddenly slammed the dagger into the table, his voice rising. She’d been too pampered since residing with Andraska, but while she was there, she’d come to know of a certain routine and of a kind of peace she’d not felt for a long time. It was strange to her, so strange that Freya felt displaced even within the harbors and out on the waters of the bay.
Wendell exposed her mark on his neck with angry words, soon gesturing to the room around them which caused Freya to ball her fists and shake her head.
“I’d lost my home,” She whispered, deadly quiet, “The day you bled out in front of me and there was… nothing I could do for you.”
Thick tears jetted down her cheeks, “I didn’t know if someone had found you… I didn’t know… if Gorroc had finished you… But all I knew was that you were gone and I had to live with that.” Her voice quivered. “I didn’t fight them Wendell, because I had nothing else to fight for. The moment Gorroc took me was the moment my life stopped. I had lost everything.”
An odd bubble of laughter pushed past her lips as Freya mimicked Wendell, gesturing around them. “And to know that you’ve been alive— doing as you please with whomever you want, working from a ship you bought with my drug money while I rotted in prison, while I awaited death?!”
“I was willing to die in penance to Vhalar for failing you, Wendell! Now I see that I was a fool for ever trusting you or the others!” Freya stormed past him as he opened the door. “You didn’t give a shit about where I ended up, whether at the end of a noose or in your bed!”

[Wendell]

Wendell tasted blood, and realised he was biting his tongue. He stopped the woman as she tried to storm past him, even though he had promised himself he wouldn't, that if she wanted to, she could leave, but if she was saying goodbye forever, she might as well know the truth.

“Shut the door,” he said, not wanting anyone else to see this.

He went to the middle of the cabin, took the dagger from the table and got down on his knees to inch the blade between the floorboards. Something made a clicking sound and a trap door three boards wide jumped up. He bent, reaching into the space to retrieve a sack, and pulled it out with a heave. The heavy sack tipped over and gold coins fell across the floor near the mouth of the worn leather that had kept them together for the better part of a season.

Wendell pushed the trapdoor shut and sat back on his heels, watching her. “The witch told me you would be in Rynmere come the hot cycle. I didn't know where else to look. The men put their share together, along with mine, for the boat (he had twisted a few arms). I kept your cut safe and you're free to take it. If Caed and Haraji want to follow you, they too are free to go, but you will never step foot on this boat again,” he warned.

The way Wendell saw it, Freya had two options. She could return to her home with her schooner and the seven thousand gold nel in coin, or she could stay and pay into their next adventure, offer her share up to better the boat with guns and a fully furnished cabin of her own.

“I did the best with what I had,” he got to his feet. “Take your coin and fuck off.” Wendell turned away then to face the windows, because if she chose to go, well… he couldn't watch fate tear her from his arms a second time.

[Freya DuCarinos]

○ Common ○ Rakahi ○ Pailtic ○ Hussian ○

For some reason, Wendell had a way of getting under Freya’s skin and making her heart jump. It did exactly that when he’d stepped in front of her, preventing her from exiting the room which he’d offered only moments prior. Her blue-red eyes peered up to his and, in that moment, she’d remembered how tall he was and how built he’d become since last she saw him. He looked rugged, as any seafarer would, but nothing unattractive, at least by her standards.
Hesitantly, she shut the door when he’d moved from her to get the knife and, was a bit confident that he wouldn’t use it on her. Moments later proved her confidence right before a trap door opened from the floor and Wendell hefted a sack from below.
Freya was confused by his explanation, guilt creeping into her veins like ice as the glint of a gold nel caught her eye. Wendell had saved her boat. He’d rounded her crew and delivered the drugs. He’d met the Witch Doctor and used shares to buy this boat? And he’d saved her portion, hiding it from the others so he might return it to her without a second thought.
Crossing her arms, Freya stood there in the silence, looking everywhere but Wendell so that she could compose herself. Her eyes still beaded with tears and, in an effort to subdue her weakness, she swiped them away with her fingers and pressed her lips together, taking calming breathes.
She’d been wrong about his intentions, so overwhelmed by the sight of his existence and his presence aboard this ship that Freya failed to read between the lines of it all.
“Wendell, please…” The biqaj finally spoke, moving to stand in front of him. “It’s not about the money. Please look at me.” When his gaze would finally meet hers, thin fingers would slide up against his cheek, her thumb caressing the skin there. It was as if they’d switched places really, now he was the sea worn pirate and she was the.. Well, not nearly innocent captive. They were both different, having changed in their time apart. Freya’s body still wore the torture of captivity, looking smaller than it had been, but she didn’t look nearly as bad as when she escaped prison. Her hands were soft too, not having tough calluses from working the ship all day long.
Wendell, she noticed, looked bigger, tougher, stood taller. He carried his stature with confidence and intimidation, something that might easily frighten a stranger. His beard had grown some and his hair looked a bit longer and lighter.
“I was ashamed, knowing I could never return you to your home. I’m sorry...” Taking a breath, she continued, “By the Fates, I’ve missed you so much.”

[Wendell]

Freya positioned herself between the man and the table he stood close to, looking up into his eyes with that hope that he might meet her gaze. His teeth were clenched together, he could still taste blood on his tongue, but her closeness saw him break eventually, he couldn't look through her after all, no one could look past those eyes.

The man lifted his hand to touch the tail of the dragon wrapped about her arm in vivid, fiery ink, tracing the length of her arm to the elbow. She spoke to him in Rakahi, but without her he had become rusty and struggled to understand much more than the words fate, and missed you. He didn't want to smile, so instead let his anger melt away, and squeezed her arm, as if to say, and I you.

When his hand fell away, Wendell turned and reached up to the netting that ran across part of the ceiling overhead, holding extra blankets and bags. “I almost forgot,” he said, “your pack.” He pulled the pack with all of her things down from the net and sat it on the table so she could go through it in her own time.

Wendell made no attempt to pull away after that, but instead watched the woman up close, taking note of the subtle changes in her appearance, and refreshing the image time had eroded in his mind. There was a knock at the door that saw him jump, and race to the gold, scooping it back into the leather sack. He tied it off in a hurry and dumped it on the bed, throwing part of the cover over it.

“Come in,” Wendell called, sat at the table now, eyes on the map.

It was Haraji, his nose looked even worse than before, and the inner corners of both eyes were black with bruising. Wendell couldn't help but laugh. “You look terrible.”

“Shut up,” Haraji hissed, and held out a platter to Freya. “My apologies,” he told her, “for the way in which I handled you earlier this morning.” He set the tray down on the table, delicious fruits, crackers, cheeses, and seeds laid out in different bowls. Haraji bowed. “It's good to have you back,” he spoke in their shared language.

“Fuck off,” Wendell waved, playful.

Haraji nodded and left them to it. He paused at the door. “Our destination, captain?”

Wendell looked across at him, “Rharne, we need to return the girl to the witch doctor.”

Haraji nodded and pulled the door closed.

Wendell looked up at Freya, that must have been hard, he thought, to hear Haraji call a slave his captain. “Don't worry, we aren't taking you to the witch,” he told her, and turned his left hand over so that she could see the pearl coloured scar on his palm. “I made a deal with the witch, I get the girl, take her back, we get the gold.”

He picked up the ink quill and started filling in names of places on the map, adding the word Venora to the south of Rynmere, next to the words Cyrene Bay. Thirty days on dry land had done him well, he had filled out, and looked a little stronger, perhaps due to all the sacks and barrels he had been carting back and forth to the ship, food for their journey and supplies they had carried all the way from Blackbrine to sell on behalf of a dealer, a tradesman.

Wendell leaned back in his chair, studying Freya once more. “Tell me, who do I need to fuck, kill, or pay off to clear your name?” he smirked. “Can't have you scared of stepping foot on Rharne, or anywhere else for that matter.”

[Freya DuCarinos]

○ Common ○ Rakahi ○ Pailtic ○ Hussian ○

His touch was unfamiliar, having faded from her mind, and while it elected a heat upon her flesh, Freya could feel the barrier it established. Wendell traced her tattoo, a design that mirrored the one upon his neck. Now that she was alive, Freya felt a bit embarrassed to wear such a symbol so boldly, but she supposed it was the customary thing to do. Clan leaders wore their emblems, and while it was fortunate that Wendell was still alive for the two to require such official markings, she didn’t get the tattoo because of that. She’d gotten it to remember Wendell by, though she would never tell him that (however obvious it was to others).
With a squeeze of her arm, a gentle message was sent and while his hand fell away, so too did hers. Freya watched him unload a familiar pack from the netting and approached it, undoing the ties so she could see what was inside.
Clothes, her black ledger, some hygiene items, her bounty poster, and a few knives, along with other small do-dads. She picked up the ledger and looked inside it, finding the last entry detailing the placement of the drugs outside of Ne’haer. Closing it, she tucked it back in and pulled the bounty paper up under her nose.
It showed a very odd drawing of her face with the words ‘BOUNTY WANTED’ written in red at the top, the crimes she’d supposably committed listed at the bottom along with the price.
Memories of her time as Gorroc’s captive, the trial, and the time spent in the prison caused Freya to lay the paper on the table rather abruptly as she looked toward the door. Haraji wasn’t the only one looking a little messy when the two biqajs finally glanced upon the other. Freya’s expression relaxed and she smiled.
“You should have just said something to me.” She told.
“And have you refuse?”
Rolling her eyes with a small smile on her lips, she looked to the platter he’d placed down and knew she should take from it to sustain her body, but the events of the day had squashed her appetite. A familiar sense rolled within her at the mention of ‘Captain’, turning her eyes to the Biqaj. He was talking to Wendell when he’d uttered such a question and, with an awkward bout of envy, Freya returned to examining the items in the pack.
They were headed to Rharne? The woman paused… Wendell must have noticed because he quickly put her fears at ease.
Once Haraji left, Freya placed all the items back into the pack and tied it closed. “Wendell,” She sighed, her head beginning to ache, “It’s unwise to make deals with the Witch Doctor. There are rumors of things she’s done to those she’s contracted with... ” Slinging the pack over her shoulder, Freya looked down at the map. Had he drawn all of this?
“Nevertheless, I can’t go back to Rharne. I won’t. After…” She shook her head, “This isn’t your burden to carry and it’s not yours to fix, nor will I ask you to.” Freya wanted to smile back at him as it was rare to see that smirk directed at her, but she couldn’t. Her paranoia and insecurities demanded isolation even as she yearned to go to him and embrace him. Her eyes bled from soft blue to gold with flakes of red swirling within them.
“Keep the money. I don’t want it. Just, please be careful, Companion.” Staring him down for a few trills, Freya turned and headed for the door. It was among the hardest things she had to do, but shaky hands didn’t pause when she opened the door to leave.

[Wendell]

Out on deck the view was amazing, and the sea so blue. Wendell shut the door to his cabin and locked up, hanging the key on a chain around his neck that he kept tucked into the top of his tunic. The sails were flapping about, but there wasn't quite enough wind to see the ship move at full speed. Haraji looked up from the deck below, confused. He knew the look on Freya’s face, and his captain’s seemed just about as bleak.

“Find Caed,” he said to one of the sailors, and walked down the steps with his hand on the rail.

Haraji approached him, quiet. “Wendell?”

“Freya wants to leave, she is going to take the schooner.”

“I thought we were going to sell it?” Haraji lowered his voice.

“Change of plans,” Wendell told him.

“She can't sail back to Rynmere alone, it takes at least two men.”

“Caed will go with her.”

“With all his coin tied up here? I very much doubt that.”

“And you?” Wendell said.

Haraji frowned. “I respect Freya,” he said, “but if her plans are to stay in Rynmere, there is little for me there. Besides, what of my own investment?” he asked.

“I’ll pay you out.”

“You don't have the money,” Haraji laughed.

“You have my word.”

“A pirates word means little,” the man folded his arms, “a man's word won't feed me.”

“And yet you stand here quite fat,” Wendell teased.

Haraji smiled.

“Talk to her,” Wendell encouraged, “you might change your mind.”

Haraji nodded and approached Freya wearing the same smile he had only moments ago when he had interrupted them.

“Sails in!” Wendell bellowed, and the men raced to secure the ropes, folding the white sails away in order to slow the boat. They would have to stop before it was safe to bring the schooner near or the galleon would drag it under, cutting a violent path through the sea.

Wendell walked along the deck to watch the smaller boat, and then helped the men pull it in, leaving Haraji, Caed, and Freya to talk.