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Jonah Lee was a happy person. He almost always had this cheeky grin on his face. He swung his legs, singing softly under his breath, sitting on a barrel on the main deck of the Marlin’s Wake, a sailing ship bound for The Walking Cove. He looked up from where he had been toying with a loose thread on his pants. He was met with eyes as grey as storm clouds and a stoic face.
“Hey.” He said, with that usual cheerful tone in place, cocking his head to the side in mild curiosity.
“Hi…” The voice wasn’t cold, but it wasn’t exactly friendly, either. The boy was about Jonah’s age, 16 or 17, with scruffy brown hair, a sharp jawline and straight nose.
“Do you like my singing?” Jonah asked, legs still swinging and hitting the side of the barrel.
“It’s nice. You have a good voice.”
“Thanks. It’s Jonah, by the way.” He felt the need to introduce himself. He didn’t know why. Probably because it was good manners. Remember your manners, Jonah. His mother had told him, once, when he was younger.
“Mine’s Nyrin.” a small smile tugged at the corners of Nyrin’s mouth.