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“Cid is asking for your attention to a matter,” Iris says to your profile. She’s younger than you, but just as able, dark hair cropped similarly short and freckles brought out across the bridge of her nose from the sun and the sea air. “He’s thinking we should alter course.”
“Alter course?” You turn your gaze from the sea then and meet her eyes, uniquely and strikingly amber. “Why? We aren’t in that storm’s path.”
“Not for the storm, Captain. He’s saying something about the merfolk.” Her expression tightens as she says this. You straighten your back.
Iris had lost a brother to the merfolk. Some crews might not view them as a threat, merely another type of sealife to hold at a cautious, respectful distance, like sharks. But sharks don’t hold grudges, don’t use weapons, don’t have malicious practices of drowning sailors for sport.