Archive of Our Own

Scott Springwell had never left Barrowhill. At least, not of his own will. Having a bag shoved over his head, his limbs tied and his body battered as he got dragged over roots and rocks probably counted as leaving, in a way. 

He had entered the border of the forest to forage and harvest mushrooms. Nettle, velvet shank, maybe some wild garlic if he got lucky. Scott had only gotten to his best spot for horse parsley when he found himself being taken away from his town. He could feel his magic spiking with fear, flickering uselessly in and out of invisibility. Scott kicked and screamed into the dark hood. He had gotten a scratch off on one of the people tugging his arm before they pulled his wrists behind his back with a rough rope. A hit at the back of the skull sent him plummeting into unconsciousness.

Scott next awoke in the small room where he had been ever since. As per the tallied marks etched into the far wall, he had a very long time to examine every corner of what could only be described as a cupboard. Essentially a cell. All he knew for sure, according to the soft rocking of the ground below him and distant splashes, was that he had been taken on a boat. 

Whoever has taken him clearly knew violence. Barrowhill laid several days away from any body of water large enough for a boat. Scott must have been knocked out for a very long time if he couldn’t remember a single part of that journey. How had he not bled out from the head wound on the way?

Scott could only half guess the passage of time based on the general sounds of the crew. He had no other point of reference. No window to let light through, only the lamps in what must be a hallway through the cracks of the door. No actual schedule as to when food was brought. It seemed an afterthought, more than anything. As if Scott was a dangerous prisoner to starve rather than a rather weak florist. 

The plank that served as his calendar had already passed its hundredth scratch. Scott’s vision had adapted to the faint luminosity however much it could. Still, he relied mostly on feeling to count them. Rubbing the grooves with his thumb almost became ritual.

Blonde hair littered the floor with how it had begun falling in patches, too thin at the root to stay attached. It stuck to his skin every time he placed a palm down. What did remain on his scalp must be a frightful sight. Tangled, grimy, dull. Leagues away from the wheat-golden strands of a mid-summer field inherited from his mother. That was the point of his current appearance Scott knew the most about. He felt how it fell by the handful everyday, but the rest of him must not be any better.

Scott had no way to check, what with the lack of reflective surfaces, even in the barely present light. A carved bowl, a leaky waterskin and his own hands for utensils made up all of the furnishings of his room. Scott trusted that he couldn’t have used their spoon anyway, even if they had provided one. No metal anywhere near him in fear he might find a way to turn it against his captors. Or perhaps they just did not care enough.

For a nature mage, Scott had never felt as far removed from it as in his cage of dead wood. At the rate he had been losing weight, it might soon become his coffin. Easy burial. Simply detach the cupboard and let it sink far below the surface.

Scott’s palms, large and square, seemed way too big for the new narrowness of his fingers. The knuckles bulged grotesquely right beneath his translucent skin. Similarly, he could count every single one of his ribs simply by running a hand over them. Even the linen of his shirt, stiff from dried sweat and the occasional salt water they doused over him, couldn’t conceal the valleys amidst bone. 

Scott had gone past the point of pain, too malnourished to even stay awake most of the day. He slipped between his body consuming itself and restless slumber. Visions he couldn’t make out rippled. Scott didn’t even have enough space to lay down fully, forced to curl up on himself. His height only made it all worse. Every movement pulled at his dry skin. Flakes rained down when it didn’t split. The blood that would come from it dripped slow and thick, too dark already for a wound that had barely just opened.

Scott.

Was.

So.

Tired.

Not enough water to cry, no pleads from his throat, too dry, only this hellish box where Scott would die.

He missed his bed and his father’s arms, the smell of wet soil, the weight of a clay pot in his hands, a calloused palm on his cheek, a thousand fluttering petals, the warm dampness of the greenhouse, dirt soiling his clothes, animal prints to decipher, an evening by the fire while the storm raged outside, a soft blue cape on his shoulders, birdsong in the forest, even the badly set pavers in the road that he tripped over regularly.

Scott missed home.

I’m sorry, dad, Scott thought. He dropped his head. He accepted his fate. At least in death, he would join his mother.

Only fate would have it another way. For the first time in one hundred and thirteen lines scraped from his split nails, the door opened fully. It hit Scott’s shins as it did, who didn’t even have the energy to whimper. Light flooded in, eyes rendered blind after so long in near complete darkness. Two painful grips hauled him to his feet. They refused his weight, immediately collapsing again.

“Useless-”

The word, groaned in Scott’s ear as he got tugged down the corridor on his knees, awakened his hearing to the sounds around him. Wood groaned against the water slamming into it. Agitated footfall shot up and down stairs. Metal screeched the agony of the damned. As steps hit his legs, hair whipped at Scott’s face. 

The outside.

After so long.

He had almost forgotten it existed, with how his world had been reduced to a single room.

Even as soaked sails flapped heavily in the wind and people fought atop the deck, Scott closed his eyes to the storm raining down upon his cheeks. Water dripped into his parched mouth. Salty gusts couldn’t conceal the overwhelming tang of blood, yet it felt the most fragrant nectar after the stale air of the cell. Scott didn’t know he could still smell things.

“Cast your thorns, mage!”

Was this it? Had he been captured, starved, broken all for his accursed magic? The sole mage of his town, barely strong enough to contribute to his father’s shop. That title was not deserving of all the suffering forced upon him. None of him was worth the entire effort they had gone through to take him away to gods only knew where they might be sailing now.

“I can’t.”

Scott’s voice struggled to escape his lips, hoarse from disuse. He wouldn’t have recognised himself in it, had it not been his very own throat it vibrated from. The hold on his arm tightened. Scott twisted in a futile attempt to free himself.

“Do it, now!”

The reason for the second guard’s insistence became clear when Scott’s eyes swept over the shipdeck. Clearly, they were losing the fight. The boat accosting theirs stood a massive building, swaying on the agitated waves. More people endlessly flooded in while their own fell in piles on the planks slippery with scarlet.

“No book-”

Without the tome that he had been using to channel his magic, so far away from land, Scott was good as drought on moss. It didn’t much like to follow his commands, more fond of acting up as it liked. If only he could control it right now... Scott would bend the light around him, fall into the veil of night and-

What? Go where?

This was the ocean, an unknown ocean, in the midst of a storm no less. 

Boarding the assured winner of the fight, if Scott’s body could even hold up long enough to get him there, would just land back into another cell to perish. Pirates never appreciated stowaways, Scott had heard. He couldn’t even be used to gain a ransom.

Scott’s world tilted on its axis as a particularly large wave rolled the ship. His hips slammed into something hard, and he spun. 

The water Scott had lacked for months embraced him with the softest touch since his mother’s. Salt stung his eyes and wounds. The faint light winked at him through the tormented surface of the ocean. As he weightlessly descended into the depths and unconsciousness, alongside so many other bodies, Scott could only think about how quiet it was down below.

How ironic that Scott felt the most alive as he reached his end.

The ocean had plucked him off that deck and into its currents.

No.

It hadn’t been a wave.

The hands had deliberately pushed him aside.

Discarded the pitiful shell of a man he had become.

Finally.

Freedom.

Blessed rest, at last.

Scott sank.

Of necessity.

The band of kids that had settled a little ways away from Katie, when they had the entire length of the beach available to them, talked obnoxiously loud. Not the first, second or even third time that group had tried to distract Katie from practicing. Miffed at the interruption that she had specifically come down to avoid, Katie continued blowing into the tip of her instrument steadily.

“Go away, you’re making our ears bleed!”

Clearly they had no taste in music. She kept on ignoring them, and they did not like that. Two of them rose to their feet and approached. Katie finally stopped, glaring at them. They must be the same age, maybe slightly older, but it didn’t deter her.

“I was here first!”

Katie stood her ground, unwilling to cave when she evidently was in the right. They didn’t slow down. A zap of fear shot through her. No, she was brave, she wouldn’t let herself get flattened by some idiots. With no one to defend her, she would just have to do it herself.

The long reedpipe in her hands rose over her shoulder, the way she had seen Nom do in the training grounds. The instrument became a sword, ready to strike. It would break on impact, not strong enough to do any damage, but they didn’t know that. It might be threatening enough. She could always make another one. 

“You think your little flute is enough to protect you?”

Okay. Right. They were not impressed by what should have been a terrifying display, so maybe they were both dumb and blind. If only she had brought her chimes, those would be a lot better as weapons. The metal would hurt, for sure. She could imagine telling the bullies that the ringing came not from the bells but their own empty heads. That would show them.

Change of plans, then.

Katie dropped into a crouch and buried her hands into the ground. She rose again with two fists full of fine sand. Unexpectedly, she jumped forward, throwing it right into their faces. They screamed. Bad idea, because then it got into both their eyes and their mouths. She hoped they liked crunchy food. They ran back towards their friends, tripping over bumps they couldn’t see. Katie grabbed more sand to dissuade the rest from approaching. 

“That’s right, and don’t come back!”

They didn’t even try. Hurriedly gathering their things, they grabbed their friends and dragged them away, hurling insults at Katie. She drowned them out under a new song.

A mild wind curled the sails, not quite blowing in the ideal direction but close enough that the boat glided peacefully over the water. They kept well away from the storm in the distance, not wanting to risk getting caught within. The same breeze ruffled Mae’s hair, slipping playfully along the curls and brushing them into her face. She had tied it, initially, until Nom stole the elastic band. She had let it happen. He desperately needed to have his own hair attached and out of his face, given how it had been growing past his shoulders.

That there obscuring of her vision, in addition to keeping an eye on the dark clouds, meant that she took a moment longer to notice the pink shape darting away below the surface. 

Mae followed it for a second as it swam away. Perhaps one of those pink dolphins that she had heard lived in warm waters. Were they even in warm waters here? She traced its course back to closer to their ship, where it seemed to have originally come from. She saw it then, unmistakable against the deep blue.

“Person overboard! Ahead starboard!”

She shouted to her crew below, leaning so far over the edge of the crow’s nest she almost toppled out. Thankfully, having done it many times, her hands gripped the rail firmly enough to prevent her actually falling. She was very talented like that. Especially when it came to not splatting on the deck far below. Mae climbed down the mast in just enough of a hurry to catch the last patter of feet preceding a splash.

“Katie, no-! Damn it.”

The wheel clattered as Nom smacked it in frustration. A cittern rested nearby, haphazardly abandoned against atop a pile of rope. Mae ran over to the side of the boat, watching Katie’s practiced strokes head for the figure she had spotted. It clung to some piece of floating wood. Perhaps part of a wreck from the storm that had drifted their way. The brave girl reached it rapidly. She had them all beat when it came to swimming, the only place she won without question over her brother. Maybe if Nom would actually get in the water, that could be a different story.

Katie came back much slower to the ship, one arm stuck in pulling along the entire piece of wood and its passenger. Mae could only hope it wouldn’t be a corpse this time. She had seen a lot of them. Too many. More than she had ever wanted to see. The ladder thumped against the hull when 4C dropped it, hopping down its rungs to help Katie as she approached. Mae kicked aside one of the sand-filled balls he had dropped, in fear one of them might trip on it in a rush.

“This guy’s completely tangled in the seaweed, gods know how long he’s been in there!”

Mae pursed her lips sadly. Another corpse then. All they could do for those was to send a prayer for them to the gods and return them to the ocean. As much as Mae would like to do more, Nom argued, and reasonably so, that they couldn’t risk the diseases carried by the dead. Not so far from land. 4C was decent enough at treating a cut, but they weren’t equipped for some kind of plague or whatever corpses could give.

“Give it here, I can cut- what?”

4C already had his dagger in hand, the other grabbing onto the rope. Mae bent further over the side and immediately saw the source of his confusion. The green and brown tangles retreated from the corpse’s arms. It slowly slid off the plank now that nothing remained to hold it in place. Katie pushed away with a cry of disgust and reached to hook an arm into the ladder. The seaweed slithered into the ocean, almost alive. Well, admittedly it was alive. Rather, it seemed sentient, like the tentacles of an octopus.

“Katie, get out of there!”

Nom had taken to the railings on the raised quarterdeck, remaining near enough the wheel. The corpse drifted along slightly. Katie watched the water, as if the seaweed would grab her next and drag her down, but nothing came. 4C caught the corpse’s arm as it floated by. He somehow managed to pull it over his back enough to start climbing again. Katie scampered up behind him, so close that she held up the body’s legs on her shoulders.

“That was so fricking weird.”

Mae rushed to get her a towel, kept on hand for the times she jumped into the ocean without warning. Not too uncommon, to Nom’s great displeasure, obviously. 4C laid down the corpse in the centre of the deck. Katie let herself be wrapped up without complaint, her darkened hair sticking against her face. Nom marched over with great heavy stomps.

“Katie, how many times do I have to say-”

Mae tuned out the argument she had heard time and time again in favour of kneeling beside 4C near the body. Stringy hair fell over an emaciated face. Scabs littered skin, soft and swollen with seawater. Threadbare clothes hung loose, that even a storm couldn’t wash dark bloodstains out of. Knobbly hands ended in nails broken down to the skin.

“I’m not a child!”

Yeah. This was the kind of body that Mae had seen many of. All of the slaves, the mistreated sailors, the lost at sea and the wrecked came out looking something similar. It must have happened recently, he hadn’t started bloating yet. They didn’t fish those ones out.

“That was so dumb-”

Her stinging eyes met 4C’s when she raised her head. Mae could only give a tight lipped smile that she didn’t really mean. Neither did he. She took an unsteady breath to calm herself down, trying to straighten the body’s shirt. Some needless attempt at comfort.

“Wait…”

Something moved under her hand. She glanced back to make sure the siblings’s fight hadn’t become physical, in a way that would make the deck quake. Their feet had remained perfectly in place. Only their arms waved around in agitation. For once.

“What?”

4C asked, his hand joining hers on top of the chest. Beneath the protruding ribcage, she could feel it. Both of them could. This was not another corpse.

“He’s alive…”

A heartbeat, faint as it may be, but present. The slow shaky filling of lungs. Mae pressed down more firmly, to ensure it wasn’t just her own pulse tricking her brain, but 4C nodded erratically. They had gotten many corpses, but never this, never a live person.

“Stop arguing, you idiots, he’s alive!”

4C’s shout stopped the pair right in their tracks. If this poor soul had been in the ocean for long enough to drift from that storm, some water might have gotten in his lungs, surely. Mae, with the most care she could put in her touch, rolled him onto his side. Every single one of his ribs pressed against her hands. The fabric of his shirt stuck to his concave chest, and she couldn’t look away until Katie threw her towel over him.

“I’ll- get clothes.”

Nom muttered as he hurried off towards the living quarters. Mae kept a gentle hold on the stranger to keep him in place as he teetered with the rock of the boat. Gods forbid he might just roll off the edge again. They stared, dumbfounded, unsure of what to do next. This was a first.

That was, until he started to stiffen, wound up tight. He coughed so hard Mae feared he would just shatter right there. His body fought and eventually managed to expel some water, adding to the puddle that had formed from both him and Katie. His breath came ragged, raspy, but ravenous. Like he had been starved of air for months.

Mae reached out to brush the wisps of hair from his eyes, so fine that it had mostly dried already. It fell back over his carved cheekbone, a waterfall along a cliffside, already so pale that it could have been made of glass. His skin stole all the warmth out of Mae’s fingertips. She didn’t move when his eyelids twitched or when his face wrinkled as they opened.

“Hi…”

Mae whispered, word caught in her throat as the vibrant green stare hazed over her. He raised his head with difficulty, uncaring of how her palm now cupped his jaw. Maybe he couldn’t even tell. He gauged his surroundings, slowly. The sea, the sky, the ship. Mae, and 4C beside her. Nom returning with an armful of fabric, some of it chucked straight at Katie’s face.

“I’m- not dead.”

He wheezed. Mae barely heard his voice, light as a feather, over the rumble of the waves. What struck her, more than his somewhat familiar accent or him speaking their tongue, was the disappointment tainting his words. As if death had been more preferable an option. In his state, maybe he considered it mercy.

“You sure are not.”

4C confirmed when nobody else did. This wouldn’t be much of an afterlife, Mae thought, at least for somebody who didn’t love sailing. Nom’s paradise would likely be similar, if with less squabbling with Katie. Or more. Mae would be hard pressed to tell when he enjoyed it and when he didn’t. It seemed to be a coin flip every time, typically in Nom’s favour. 

The skin that had barely started to warm up left her hand again. The stranger’s head had drooped back down to the floor with a pained sound. His lashes concealed his consciousness as his body fell limp once again. Still breathing, not gone yet. Hope remained.

Moss, as Mae had taken to calling him, didn’t come to for another few days. 4C had initially questioned the nickname, but for lack of his actual name, it stuck. Mae couldn’t shake those verdant eyes out of her head, the most alive part of him, the actual proof that they might have saved somebody. Soft eyes, their green an instant comfort. Like the moss that had cradled her over ten years ago, back when her world cracked apart. When everything had stopped seeming grand and full of opportunity. When her light got snuffed out for the last time. She still saw that moss in her dreams, wishing to weave a blanket of it to wrap up with.

Only the freedom of sailing with her crew had brought a spark back, still slowly catching into a flame. Mae hoped Moss could have it the same.

Nom had given up his bed, the nicest by a small margin, for the injured man to rest. Although he was almost too tall to fit. Being the captain, if only in title as the crew didn’t obey Nom all that much, came with the perks of more isolated quarters. At least, it kept Moss away from all the noise. Instead, Nom took up 4C’s bed when it was free. Slimes required less sleep than humans. 4C never failed to bait Mae with the information when she nodded off at the end of a long night.

They took turns checking up on Moss, although he barely moved in his sleep, except for the coughing fits. His diet, carefully drip-fed into his mouth, consisted of clear broths. Mae feared inflicting upon him more harm by giving an obviously starving man too much at once. She knew hunger too well.

4C cared for his many unhealing wounds, paging through the few books on medicine they kept. Those were unfortunately much more land-focused than sea-based. 4C improvised more than he liked. Better to at least try than leave it up to chance. It seemed to work, so far.

Katie sat at Moss’s bedside, pulling light tunes from her range of instruments. She had made it her mission to find which he favoured by counting his breaths. Mae suspected she just wanted to make sure Moss’s heart wouldn’t cease its accompanying percussion.

A valiant effort.

Care came in many forms, and Mae prayed to the gods that they could do right.

Moss took five days to wake for the first time. Katie screeched when she opened the door, so used to him laying unconscious that the sight of him sitting frightened her. He didn’t utter a sound, though he jolted at her entrance. She immediately dissolved into apologies, her harp hitting the floor in a heavy thud.

“I am so sorry, I just got caught so off guard to see you up- You’re awake! That’s amazing, that’s great. Sorry, I’m- Phew…”

The words wouldn’t stop spilling out of her mouth, disarmed by the quiet staring. Moss had his back against the stupid mountain of pillows that Nom hoarded for whatever reason. The bed was more pillow than anything else, honestly. Moss stood out so pale against the moody colours of the room, almost like an apparition. He didn’t look to be in a haze. Maybe he had been awake for a little while already.

“You were just so cold when I pulled you out of the water, I was scared you’d- you know- left already. Aaaanyway, um. Hi. I’m Katie.”

She finally managed to get her tongue under control, firmly pressing her lips together as she gave a small wave. Moss blinked slowly, eyes sweeping over her. Somehow, it didn’t feel judging as the action would normally be, rather inquisitive. At least she didn’t look intimidating. She could imagine Nom striding in all broody as he often did, with those jagged scars that had long faded to white. Now that might have gotten the best of Moss’s weak constitution.

It sure would have got Katie. An angry Nom was a Nom to avoid. His short temper had definitely improved over time, but it sure wasn't gone. Katie would still see that flame flicker in his glare sometimes, when they pushed him too close to the edge. That was the sign to disappear into the nearest lockable room and leave him alone.

“You saved me?”

The question appeared a great effort that pulled a fit of coughs from his chest. Katie hurried up to the side of the bed to offer the half-filled cup of water on the nightstand. She held it steady as he drank, tipping the glass back until he pulled away. Moss nodded his appreciation. Easier than speaking again. Only as he stared up at her did she remember why the incident had started.

“I, I suppose I did save you, yeah. I mean, you were floating on a plank, I couldn’t just leave you out there, could I?”

She did not mention the creepy seaweed thing that haunted her nightmares every night. Well, not really, but it did send a shiver up her spine every time she pictured it. Like right now. Hopefully Moss didn’t notice.

“I did jump in for you, I’m kind of really brave like that, haha…”

Katie tucked a rogue piece of hair behind her ear, only for another to fall and take its place. Gods, why was she still talking? Under its weight, Moss’s head had lolled aside onto the pillows, still watching her silently. She couldn’t fault him for not speaking, really. The man had been on the literal doorstep of death less than a week prior. And now he was in Nom’s bed. Scary.

“Should I- Should I leave you be? I mean, it must be a lot. Or are you hungry? Thirsty? Or maybe you’d like an explanation, I know I would if I was in your place.”

Although Katie thought herself pretty good at understanding people, she could not read Moss’s body language whatsoever. Mostly because he hadn’t moved at all. Prolonged periods of starvation and whatever else had happened to him, followed by near drowning had to leave some awful effects. Right?

“All?”

Moss mustered, hesitant as he tested the boundaries of his lungs’ strength. That made sense. It did, really. Katie ushered her harp out of the hallway, afraid someone might come barrelling in and knocked it over. With the promise of being right back with food, she bounded down the corridor towards the deck.

“Moss’s awake!”

Katie called out as soon as she shot out like a cannonball. 4C had screwed a blocking pad behind the door to prevent it banging into the wall after just a couple times. The slime in question instantly appeared in front of her, bounces absorbed by the softness of his legs. He must have been hanging on the ropes again. Katie spread her arms out to block the way.

“He is?!”

Mae was nothing short of a cloud of ginger curls all the way up on the crow’s nest. She looked about ready to follow 4C and jump straight down to the deck. Katie brought her hands forward to quell their enthusiasm, however understandable it was. 

“He needs to eat first, then you can come in.”

4C deflated slightly but nodded. Mae guiltily unhooked her leg from where she had slung it over the edge of her platform. Katie barely could take another step towards the kitchen, opposite the deck from the sleeping area, before someone else chimed in.

“Only if he wants that. Don’t overwhelm the poor guy. Katie’s probably done a number on him already.”

Katie whirled around to face Nom, who leaned over his wheel with a taunting grin. His hair, pulled in a low ponytail as he had recently taken to, slipped off his shoulder. She stomped her foot, too far down to wipe that smug look off his face. Oh if only she could jump that far, she would scratch his eyes out.

“Hey, I did not!”

She had. And realistically, he might have known that, considering his sleeping cabin was right beneath the quarterdeck. Screw that. He would absolutely have heard Katie scream, at least. Ugh. Katie whipped her hair over her shoulder and sulked away from him. 4C snickered as she passed him by, so she stuck her tongue out at him. At least, she had been the first to actually speak with Moss. She had that to hold over them. 

In the kitchen, Katie lifted the lid of the massive metal pot Nom had made to contain the amounts he cooked. They still had only broth, but now that Moss awoke, maybe he could have something heavier. Some soup, easy to take down. She wondered what he liked. They probably still had some squash somewhere. Lentils, most definitely. She would need to check with Mae.

Soup wasn’t too rare as a meal on the ship, but not as of late. They saved nutritious liquids for Moss, eating more of the simmered vegetables and grains instead. Katie always set aside her portion of meat or fish for Nom. That guy was too busy for meal times, he claimed. Busy farkling, if anything. She hadn’t actually seen him eat since they had rescued Moss.

Crossing the deck again, Katie kept her eyes glued to the bowl she cupped in both hands to prevent spills. The others just watched her go by without intervening. If that bowl had been for herself, she didn’t doubt half of it would be on the floor already. And they would make her clean it. 

When she returned to the room, Moss had dozed off. She feared he had fallen asleep completely again, tired out by their short interaction. Thankfully, his lashes fluttered back open at her approach. His fingers twitched towards her but they remained in his lap.

“Is it okay if I help you eat?”

Moss did not have much of a choice, really, but Katie still felt she should ask. He moved his hips aside, not actually able to make any more space but inviting her to sit. She did. The loose hair stood out on Nom’s dark bedsheets by their paleness. There was a lot of it. Entire patches had fallen out to reveal white flaky skin. Her heart hurt.

The meal proved a tedious process. Katie tried her best not to hit Moss in the teeth with the spoon but he struggled to open his mouth widely. The broth dripped from the corners of his mouth down his chin. She hadn’t thought about grabbing any sort of cloth to clean him with. She used her sleeve instead.

“Thank- you…”

Moss murmured, surrendering himself to the soft pile holding him up. Katie nodded rapidly, putting a hand on his, and she could swear she saw his lips twitch towards a smile. It didn’t stick, though.

“I’ll be better prepared next time, I promise.”

His arm twitched in a failed attempt at rotation, so she pulled away. His eyelids already tugged heavy towards sleep. Katie helped Moss lay back down, keeping some pillows to prop his torso up. An attempt to keep the coughs at bay, from what 4C had read. Darkness already pulled him under by the time she stepped through the door.

“I don’t think he’s up for talking today. Well, he can’t talk much, really, but he’s back asleep.”

Katie announced to Mae, whose face dropped. She had been waiting on the deck, just by the door, the entire time. Hopefully he could stay awake longer next time. Katie could only rub Mae’s arm comfortingly.

“Let him rest. You’d tire him out even more than Katie talking his ear off.”

4C declared, sitting up on the railing by the wheel. He held a rung distractedly, arm slung back in a way that simply would not be comfortable for anyone with silly things such as joints and muscles. For him, those were foreign concepts that he scoured anatomy books about. Katie envied it every time her fingers got stiff from playing. Gods only knew where Nom had gone off to.

“Hey, don’t be mean to Katie!”

Mae fell in step in front of her, almost entirely blocking her out of 4C’s vision. She reached up in an attempt at stealing his shoes but failed as 4C pulled his feet up quicker. Katie leaned her head around Mae, a finger pointed towards him.

“That’s right, you can’t be mean to me or- or Mae will- uh, definitely do something. For sure.”

She could keep up with the slime better than Katie. He was awfully slippery, especially when somebody chased him. Which happened often. He tended to shoot up the ropes where he knew Nom wouldn’t follow and Katie couldn’t catch him. Mae did. At least when her foot didn’t slip through the knots.

“Yeah! I’ll make you into a ball and play a game of kicking with Nom. How about that?”

4C huffed and waved his hand, flinging some dripped slime towards Mae. She jumped back to avoid it, bumping into Katie who still stood way too close behind. Her reaction speeds did not match up at all.

Katie contemplated her options of what to do next as she watched Mae climb up the mast again. So spry on her feet. The harp was still in Moss’s room. Hm. Maybe he could use a gentle lullaby, a song to accompany him in the realms of dreams. Yes, she would do that, she ascertained as she slinked back into the sleeping quarters. 

As quietly as she could, Katie sat on a stool, legs on either side of the curved wood. She placed her fingertips over the strings, which could almost pass as her own hair with their glimmer. Her loving caress pulled a sweet melody from the brass. Katie swayed lightly with the notes, eyes half shut as she lost herself to the music. A grin brightened up her face when Moss sank deeper into the bed with a whistling sigh.

Of abandon.

Fire pumped through his veins. Nom had never felt so invincible. He had no need for armour, no need for weapons, none of the honour of a knight. All that remained of his training, cut short by his own actions, was the thrill of the fight. The training grounds’ beaten earth had nothing on the hard floor of a Ring.

Blood dripped from his fingers, although it didn’t come from him. His opponent, the second of the night, glared as they circled each other. Their nose had kept the unnatural bend that Nom’s fist had forced it into. Broken, likely, if the crunch had been real and not just in Nom’s head. His knuckles had to be bruised from the force of it. He surely could hide those under a pair of gloves. The black eye might be slightly harder, but he would manage. Like usual. Katie always believed whatever excuse he gave anyway.

“What, are you scared now?”

Nom taunted, teeth bared in a crazed grin. When the other lunged forward, Nom ducked under the punch with ease. Too slow. He kicked their leg from beneath them and reveled in the smack of their back against the ground. It pulled a grunt from their chest, air knocked out of their lungs. No rules.

Well, one rule. Win.

Nom had never been good at following rules, but that one? He did. His knees on either side of their hips, Nom had his opponent caged and at his mercy. Either they passed out or they tapped out, but Nom always pushed past his limits if it meant he could get that rush. They grabbed at his forearms in an attempt to wrestle him off. Pass out it would be.

Nom might be on the shorter side, but he had the density of muscle on his side. They couldn’t buck him off, no matter how they tried. His fingers wrapped into their tangled hair, sweat-slicked from the fight. He used the grip as an anchor to bash their head down until their hands fell from his arms. 

The announcer called the end of the match. With a snarl, Nom finally let go. He stood, arms raised above his head. The taste of salt and metal filled his mouth. The spray of blood from his very first blow had run down his face. He laughed hysterically as the crowd cheered. The chant of his name beat the same rhythm as his heart. The air crackled with lightning, his hair standing on end.

Nothing felt better than victory in the Ring.

The stars shone brighter against the dark sky when 4C looked at them through his sextant. Lowering the metal device, he cast his attention to the open map on the table again. They were still heading for land, as planned. They hadn’t docked in a few weeks and with one more person on board, their supplies had started to dwindle. According to Mae’s inventory, at least. 

4C’s role as the navigator had happened more out of necessity than real enjoyment of naval routes. Nom struggled with reading enough as it was, the artful cursive of the maps would be entirely illegible to him. On top of that, he misplaced his glasses constantly. Which 4C and Mae had absolutely no part to play in it. Of course. Mae herself had such a bad sense of direction she would get lost in a glass of water. And Katie, well. She simply had no interest in it at all, much happier to entertain them all with her collection of instruments. Or clean when needed. Someone had to. Therefore, it had fallen onto 4C to direct the sailboat instead.

With a sigh, he put the sextant away into its lined box, ensuring not to damage the glass lens of the telescope. Night had fallen a few hours ago already, evidenced by the void outside the open window. A perfect cloudless night. 4C closed it before the ocean mist could get to the precious rolls of paper within. 

Would Moss be up at this time? He didn’t really have a set schedule, still resting for the better part of the day. 4C hadn’t taken a look at his injuries just yet. On top of that, his weakened state had allowed illness to creep in during his watery voyage, further limiting his energy. Some sort of infection within his chest. Thankfully, 4C didn’t have to go far to check, as the navigation room was only a few doors up from the captain’s quarters.

4C tapped his fingers on the wood, thumping dully. A response came delayed, although he couldn’t quite decipher it. Moss was awake, if anything. 4C opened the door, just a crack, to peek his head inside. 

“Can I check on your bandages?”

Moss blinked slowly, fighting back against the slumber that tried to pull him back under. Eventually, he tipped his head up and down. 4C entered and pulled the stool near the bed. He could tell just by sitting there that his breath was still short, face slightly flushed. Thankfully, he had not much of a fever, which would have been terrible. 

4C pulled up the wide sleeves of Moss’s shirt, originally one of Mae’s since that appeared to best fit his lanky frame. The cloth wrapped around his arms had remained clean this time. The fading scabs brought a pleased hum from 4C. The surface wounds healed well, at least, with the nutrition he was finally getting. It hadn’t been long since taking him in, but 4C felt like he could see the improvement in him already. His skin had regained some colour, a little more alert every day. 4C kept his hands light as he examined his patient. Who simply watched. He had been talking a little more, still quiet to limit his coughing, but enough that 4C realised they knew basically nothing about him still.

“Hey, I don’t know how we’ve never asked but… What’s your name?”

He seemed surprised by the question, sparse eyebrows twitching up. He took a shallow breath as 4C lifted his hands away. The leather of his half gloves creaked.

“Scott.”

So it was. It suited him, in a way that 4C couldn’t put words on. Something about it simply made sense. 4C bent into a playful bow and his cloak flowed over his shoulder with it. A short wheeze burst from Scott, dangerously close to a cough but thankfully skirting around it.

“Nice to meet you officially, Scott. I’m 4C.”

Scott, weakly, lifted his hand and 4C shook it. So much sharper, bonier, drier in comparison. A couple flakes of skin remained stuck to his slime, which he would absorb in time. And digest, or something. With all the medical reading he had done lately, he knew more about human than slime anatomy. 

Well, that and elven. The ears had been the first clue. Pointed ears weren’t exclusive to elves. They seemed rather common, even, but Scott’s were particularly pronounced, long and sharp. However, 4C had seen the other signs. Despite physical maturity, no traces of facial hair graced Scott’s jaw. Not shaven, either. 4C had seen Nom with stubble enough to recognise it. Beyond the obvious starvation, traces of a slender body remained. Scott’s skin pulled tight over his bones rather than hanging loose. He was undeniably tall, his shoulders made broader by the contrast of his narrow hips. 

What had given it away in the end was the blood. Nom had been the one to notice the wound when they had changed Scott out of his soaked clothing. It must have reopened when they moved him, a thick copper seeping from his side. Nom had quickly recognised it. He had seen the very same colour drip from another elf before, he claimed. 4C hadn’t met any elves so he couldn’t quite say. It could be a significant remark just as much as a result of whatever circumstances had gotten him here.

Not that it mattered anyway. Elves and humans were closely related enough that following a human lifestyle, just to be safe, would not cause harm to Scott.

“Could- I go- out?”

Scott asked between laborious inhales. 4C had noticed him staring out the window on the few occasions he was there when the curtains were open. He tended to visit after sunset.  The night chill wouldn’t help his condition, but breathing in some fresh ocean air might. According to the books, at least. 4C didn’t quite breathe, in so many words. Rather, he trapped air into his slime. Mae liked the bubbles it formed.

“A minute?”

The plea sounded familiar. A younger 4C would have loved a minute outside. The helpless look in Scott’s green eyes broke 4C’s reservations. He stood and began pulling the blankets tightly around Scott. Still, he kept them loose enough around the chest that they put no pressure on his breathing.

“I’ll carry you, you just-”
4C caught himself before he could advise Scott to hold on tight. Clearly, he didn’t have the strength to do that. He had barely managed to lift a cup by himself the day before. An empty cup, at that. He took a second to notice Scott’s dubious look, sizing him up. Or well. More like sizing him down.

“I can, I'm strong enough!”

And if he wasn’t, he would ask Nom to help. 4C didn't mention that when soaked to the bone, Scott had still weighed less than the coils of rope 4C hauled around daily. Yes, maybe he would compress a little under the load. That was fine. It took a bit of arguing his case but 4C eventually managed to get Scott settled upon his back. The ill man had no other choice, really. He would never make it to the door by himself if he so tried.

“Why- help me?”

4C’s step faltered at the question, warped as his shoulder dug into Scott’s cheek. He understood it, really. He had asked a similar one what felt like decades ago but must only have been the better part of two years. If Scott was anything like 4C had been back then, he must be terrified. Therefore, 4C repeated exactly what he wished he had been told.

“Why not?”

Scott didn’t deserve to be treated badly. 4C hadn’t. Mae hadn’t. Katie hadn’t. Hell, even Nom hadn’t. Despite some more than questionable decisions in the past. Whatever had happened to Scott was none of his fault, only that of whoever had inflicted it. He chose not to dwell on it too long, in case it brought bad memories up for Scott. Instead, he headed out into the chill night. Scott breathed in slowly, tentatively, as though he had forgotten how. 

Through the several layers of blankets that separated 4C from Scott, he swore he could feel him relax.

“Oh hey 4C.”

The voice, unexpected, came from a low silhouette ahead. 4C hadn’t expected anyone else to still be up at this time. Mae, sometimes, but she had tucked in already. What was Nom doing out of bed? A band of leather tied the wheel in place, holding its position for a short while until 4C could return to it. He had no real reason to be outside. Except enjoyment, of course, but Nom did that in his weird own way. He hadn’t even turned around to face them, sitting cross legged in the middle of the deck. Clatter rang out over the quiet sea, followed by a quiet curse.

But of course, late night Farkle. 4C should have guessed. Nom must have been looking for 4C to engage in a game, as he usually seeked him out. Seeing the juggling balls abandoned near the wheel, he must have expected 4C to return soon. There were only so many things you could do while stuck in the middle of the sea.

“Scott.”

4C called out, feeling a slight stir on his back at the name. Nom barely lifted his head, muttering as he counted up his score and gathered the dice in his hand again. 1250, pretty decent round. Nom could do better though, he had proven so on numerous occasions. Maybe his head wasn’t in it today.

“Hm?”

Nom hummed distractedly as he rolled again. 4C wondered how he had it in his mind to be able to play both sides of a game by himself. The guy liked Farkle too much, even 4C wasn’t this bad. Not anymore. He reiterated his thoughts.

“Nom, this is Scott.”

The captain finally looked back over his shoulder, eyes twisted with confusion. Until they fell in place and brightened. 4C could tell from the corner of his vision that the moonlight cast a ghostly glow on Scott, his hair whiter than blond, the valleys of his skin hollowed by shadow. His face emerged from the wrapped blankets almost disembodied. Nom pushed himself up to meet them, his game abandoned without further thought.

“Hi Scott.”

Nom’s voice lowered. The only other time 4C had heard him sound soft like this was when they had found an injured crow on the deck during a stay at dock. The bird hopped pitifully, one of its wings hung low. It must have hit the sails or gotten caught in the ropes. Nom had taken it upon himself to nurse it back to health. To their surprise, he had done it well. The crow had refused to leave until land had almost disappeared from view.

“Hi…”

Scott whispered back. Though it was quiet, he struggled less with speaking than earlier. The salty air must be actually helping. 4C would let the rest of the crew know, maybe keeping the window open in the sleeping quarters would be good. As long as the waves didn’t splash high enough to enter. That would be pretty unpleasant.

“You look- better.”

Nom hadn’t seen much of Scott, what with steering taking most of his awake time. Apart from when he disappeared for an hour or so, that had been happening a lot more recently. 4C should probably get concerned about it at some point, but not when he had a swaying man on his back. 

“Anything- is better.”

Well. Scott was not wrong, but 4C would not say that out loud. He looked away towards the darkness of the ocean. The sky, barely lighter, made it look as though the water surrounded them in a bubble. But then, something happened. New, unexpected. Scott made a strange sound, almost choking. They both glanced over with alarm, but 4C could hardly do anything given their position. Nom stared for a second, before joining in with a deep chuckle. That was it. Scott laughed, and though it soon devolved into a round of coughing, 4C realised Scott had been making a joke. 

“We can talk properly tomorrow, yeah?”

Nom offered when Scott got his breath back under control. Scott rubbed his cheek against 4C’s shoulder. Or he nodded. That was more likely. He no longer held his head up at all. Must be getting close to falling asleep again. 

“What a brilliant idea you’ve had suddenly.”

4C teased, securing his grip on Scott’s blanket-swaddled legs. Nom shot 4C a look and huffed. Okay, yeah, maybe Scott’s health took precedent over it, especially when he had been on the literal brink of death.

“Back to sleep now, hm? Both of you.”

Scott did not protest. Nom might have but 4C couldn’t hear it as he walked away. He would come back to check anyway, not the first time he’d had to drag Nom into bed. The guy was nothing if not stubborn.

4C returned Scott to the mattress. His cheeks had dusted with copper, although this time not from illness. His nose, too, from the nipping chill outside. Scott settled back for sleep, murmuring timid thanks to 4C. As he adjusted a falling pillow, 4C mentioned nothing about the series of lines scratched into the headboard.

Nom, as he usually did, joined the ship meeting last. Despite their newest addition still being rather unsteady, they gathered in the dining room, with Mae by Scott’s side in case he wavered. Nom had been the one to suggest the location, and not only because five of them wouldn’t have fit in his cabin. As evidenced by Scott’s request to 4C the previous night, he had to be sick of being cooped up in a single room. Nom sure would be, in his place.

He had even changed from the simple brown sleepwear lent by Mae. Instead, he wore what Nom recognised as one of Katie’s knits, a soft green colour. A lacy collar peeked out from the top, as delicate as his neck. The sweater didn’t hang nearly as far down as it did on Nom’s sister, revealing a strip of braided leather around his waist. Was that 4C’s? Nom had a vague memory of seeing him wear it. It served as a belt to hold up what could only be Mae’s trousers. Nobody else’s legs competed with Scott’s for length. According to the crew, at least, not that Nom had paid particular attention to them.

Instead, Nom met the green eyes that rose up to his face from his hands, sunken but curious. He put the bowl down in front of Scott before slipping into the spot left empty on the bench, just across from him.

“Bit hot still but mash’s good for you. I’ve been perfecting my recipe.”

The steam curled and swirled just below Scott’s face, playing with his weightless hair. Nom would have waited for the mashed potatoes to cool more before bringing them over, but Katie had been shouting at him to hurry up. Mae stared at the food, mouth half-open in a word that got lost. She raised an accusatory finger towards Nom.

“So that’s why our stocks of potatoes have been going down even though we didn’t eat any!”

Well, Nom was eating them. He ate every single one of his attempts, ensuring no food went to waste. Mash, multiple times a day, until the balance of flavours finally satisfied him. A very nice meal. The calluses on his fingers, thick from handling rough rope and steering the ship, had protected him from many a cut. As it turned out, the rocking of a boat didn’t make peeling potatoes any less slippery. Thankfully, he had learned how to properly sharpen a knife at the blacksmith. That made it easier. 

“They’re there to be eaten! That’s why you do stocks, no?”

Nom liked his mash sturdier, strong enough to hold a spoon up. This new recipe, he had prepared runnier to make it easy for Scott. The spoon rested on the side of the bowl like normal cutlery did. It would be good nutrition though, hold to his stomach. The mix of spices, just enough to add taste without upsetting his still healing gut. At least Nom hoped so. He really did.

“I thought we had rats, Nom!”

Mae protested. That would have been a problem for sure. Why had she not told him about the possibility of them having pests on board? Nom would have told her then, he hadn’t been trying to hide his cooking experiments. He had just not mentioned them.

“Yeah, she had me check the hold like three times.”

4C confirmed, leaning over the table to squint at the bowl. What, did he expect there to be a rat in it? Nom would never. Scott appeared entertained by the discussion, gaze going back and forth between them in jittery movements. Still, they had more important things to discuss.

What would rat meat taste like?

“Aaanyways, Scott, welcome to the Dragon's Hoard. Just- don't mind that the hull says otherwise.”

Not that he would actually be able to see from the boat itself. Maybe when he had been floating in the ocean, but he hadn’t been conscious then. Gods forbid, Nom would hate that. Just being out there by himself, having no clue what could be swimming around his feet.

“Did you steal..?”

Scott asked after pausing for a few moments, his breath short and careful. Mae looked over at Nom with caution, but he held Scott’s gaze without flinching. He grinned, crossing his arms atop the table.

“No, of course not!”

Katie protested and admittedly, well. She had not been there, only coming in the morning when Mae and Nom had already finished the job. How impressed she had been, seeing the massive sails come around the mountain side. She had no clue that they had stayed up all night on high alert in case anyone entered the cove where they had hidden the ship. She had just been told it was a deal made. 

“Just repossessed it.”

Nom added which was closer to the truth. They hadn’t harmed the previous occupants of the boat except for a bump on the head. Well, as long as at least one pair had managed to undo the rope that tied them back to back. Nom hadn’t gone back to the island to check, but they could see the mainland from there. Someone would have noticed their distress signals.

“You’re… pirates?”

The cautious quiet that creeped into Scott’s voice with each question made Nom’s stomach turn. Any amount of trust they had formed might be crushed right then and there if he didn’t get this conversation under control.

“Well-”

4C dragged out the word. Nom needed to keep him from finishing that sentence. So of course, he swung his foot to the side. It collided right into a bouncy shin. Nom pretended not to notice the gasp that caught Mae’s attention. Sand bound in leather crunched quietly as it hit Nom in the side in retaliation. He accused the hit without a blink, all too used to being on the receiving end of 4C’s juggling antics. He had steady hands even though he pretended the ball had simply slipped out. It often miraculously landed straight into Nom's nose.

“More like free sailors.”

They all craved freedom, in their own way. And they sure did sail.

“We're not outlaws though! We follow most of them!”

Katie rushed to add, hands agitated as she leaned forwards. Nom could tell she held back from reaching for Scott, the way she usually would when trying to convince someone. Nom had fallen victim to her ferocious shaking many times. She used that to get fruits from trees when they were young. 

“We just skirt the edges of some unfair laws.”

One law, two laws, who was counting? Additionally, they differed by kingdom and region, it was hard to keep track of. How had Nom been meant to know that people regularly left furniture out on the street in Meadowhall? He had just tried to grab a piece that he thought abandoned and had instead landed in the local jail.

“Right…”

4C had needed to run away to prevent alerting anyone with how hard he laughed. He had even left Nom stewing in it all night before breaking him out, the damn slime. And Nom had still gone back to get the crafting bench because, well, he simply couldn’t leave it behind. It seemed lonely. It sat as a nightstand in his quarters now, a much more appropriate spot.

“We don't hurt people! That’s not very nice. Or discreet.”

Katie’s words faded to a mumble at the end of her sentence, hand fiddling with her belt. She attached smaller instruments to keep on hand if inspiration struck, currently sporting her triple pipes.

“Nom's not-”

Mae sent a pointed look towards 4C, and Nom felt the urge to kick her too. Fortunately for her, Scott was in the line of fire. Nom couldn’t risk it.

“Oh, as if you're any better!”

He interrupted before she could say any more. Scott did not need to know any of whatever it might be Mae would bring up. And she had many unsavoury stories to pick from. They had known each other for a long time, after all. Nom hadn’t always been the great amazing friend that he was now. Or brother.

“Don't listen to them, they love having a spat. That’s probably fine to eat now.”

4C cut in as Katie joined sides with Mae to pick on Nom. Scott lifted his hand from his lap to grab the spoon. He went about it so carefully it might as well have been a bear. Stirring the mash brought up a little bit of steam, but a lot less than earlier. Food lost heat pretty quickly on the boat. They always had to scarf down their meals or accept that it would be cold by the halfway point.

Nom abandoned his argument, which he was definitely winning by the way, in favour of watching Scott eat. The spoon shook as he brought it up to his mouth but nothing spilled out of it. Strangely, it seemed like his mouth didn’t want to open much, barely enough to fit the utensil inside. His eyes widened when the taste hit him.

Scott moved quicker, eager for more. Nom leaned back in his seat as he crossed his arms over his chest with satisfaction. All the times he had slipped away to the kitchen, tweaking his recipe, had been worth it. In addition to eating his experiments, that would never be a waste. Making bad mashed potatoes was hard, although Katie often succeeded, but making the perfect mashed potatoes was harder.

“Where are you from?”

Mae asked when Scott paused, two fingers pressed into his cheek, near the joint of his jaw.

“Barrowhill? It’s up, um… ”

His voice faded before he could say more. Scott probably had no idea where they currently were, unable to describe the location relative to their current position. He coughed weakly, diverting his head into his shoulder.

“Oooh! I’ve definitely heard that name before.”

Katie called out excitedly. So had Nom, although he didn’t remember where from. It had only been mentioned in passing, by… He strained to delve into his memories. Nom sat on a bench on the edge of the training grounds, hair sweaty and hands scratched. They hadn’t yet accustomed to the rough handle of his sword. He chatted to someone who said it, Barrowhill, was on the way to their place of origin.

“Not too far from Blue, right?”

North, somewhere. What did Nom know to be North? Scott perked up at the prospect, his ears quivering lightly in a way that Nom had never seen from him. But he had seen somewhere else. Oh. Graecie. Of course, she had told him about the Yawning Grotto that laid to the North. She had to traverse Barrowhill to get there.

“Could you- get me there?”

Nom glanced over to 4C. They didn’t currently have a destination, simply sailing around for the White Sea for the sake of it. They could afford to, given the large payout of their last job. 4C’s eyes glazed over the memory of a map, hands padding across the table to chart their course. His gaze jerked up, the way he did when stars came out. Only no stars could be seen above, as daylight drowned them out. Daylight, and the very present ceiling.

“We can!”

4C finally confirmed after a nod of approval from Nom. Scott’s wide eyes shone. The hair on Nom’s arms raised the same way it had when he had ran to the Hoard with 4C on his heels. It had been a long time since Nom had visited Blue Kingdom. Not since the three of them left, four years ago. Maybe this could be an occasion to visit. A brief one.

“Don’t let Nom fool you, he’s only the captain because we let him be. He threw a fit when we first got the boat.”

Katie snickered. It was very much not true. Nom was the captain because he was the best option. Katie had been way too young back then for such a large responsibility, which she also didn’t want and still had expressed no interest in. Mae, only a few months older than Nom, refused to even consider it, much preferring to stick to the crow’s nest or the cargo hold. And well, by the time 4C had joined, everyone had gotten too used to Nom being in charge that nothing changed.

“I will punt you so far that you'll be the first person to actually reach the horizon.”

Nom gritted through his teeth, reaching over the table in an attempt to grab Katie’s wrist. She ducked away just in time, leaning back in her chair. Her laugh rose into high notes like when she pulled shrill sounds from her cruit to try and wake him up.

“Rotten boy, Nominal!”

The discussion pursued to discover more about Scott. An only child that grew up with his father running a flower shop. The second youngest of the crew, to which Nom made sure to remind Katie she was still the baby. A mage with power over nature and light that he didn’t much want to talk about. A half-elf from his mother, although he had limited knowledge on the culture.

Only when Scott had finished his bowl and the conversation dwindled did Nom ask the question that had been hogging his mind.

“Soooo, what happened to you?”

Scott’s timid smile melted away. Nom had expected it, since no one ended up shipwrecked by a good experience, but it still sent a pang in his heart. Mouth dropped wide open in disbelief, Katie whipped to face him.

“Nom!”

She berated him, and Mae looked a second away from doing the same. Nom raised his hands protectively in front of himself.

“What? He doesn't have to answer if he doesn't want to! You know that, right?”

Scott barely nodded when Nom addressed him, gaze cast down at the table. Maybe Nom shouldn’t have brought it up yet. Scott’s hair, a light curtain falling over his face, blurred his expression when he tilted his head down. Nom could hardly tell but Scott seemed.

Haunted.

“Yeah, you don’t have to talk about anything you don’t want.”

Katie nodded with such fervour that the yellow feather in her hair bent in a way close to snapping. A careful hand, Mae’s, reached for Scott. When he didn’t move away, she ran it up and down his arm.

“Especially if Nom’s the one asking.”

Nom had half a mind to kick 4C again but it appears he had brought his legs up on the chair. Damn it. Scott took a deep breath but it only brought more coughing. Mae held him up as best she could as he took a drink. When Scott spoke, his voice was but an enclosed fire, its crackling shut away.

“I was taken from my town. Kept in a cell for months with barely anything. When I couldn't cast the magic they wanted, they threw me overboard.”

Silence fell in the dining room.

Everything suddenly made a lot of sense to Nom. His physical state when they had first found him, his reaction to the food, his request to go outside, even the quiet compliance that Nom had taken as part of his temperament. 

“Oh gods…”

Mae whispered as she carefully pulled Scott into her arms. He let her, falling limp into her embrace.

Nom swore to himself that he would never let that happen again. 

Of constraint.

Scott couldn’t remember the last time his mouth had opened more than two fingers’ width. His jaw had often struggled in the past, clicking once it got past a certain point, but never to the point of completely locking. A bad fall was all it took for Scott’s body to fail him. At least, so he guessed.

Somedays, it hurt so badly that Scott could barely eat. As a boy, his mum would pull him onto her lap and gently massage the joint of his jaw with two fingers. Although he cried into her shirt, she never complained, simply cradling him closer to her chest. 

“Darling boy”, she would call him, and press a kiss into his hair. She gave him the crumb of her bread, reassuring him that she liked the crust better. She steamed vegetables until a fork poked through with no resistance and had her father hammer a set of cutlery flat.

The best Scott could do, as an adult, was a sad attempt at mimicking her actions, holding the bone in place as he chewed. The real remedy might not have been in the pressure but the comfort of a mother’s hold. That had stopped being an option a long time ago. He still used his flattened fork, which didn’t quite fit along the other ones in the drawer. The spoon didn’t fare much better, although it sat at his bedside instead. 

It wasn’t a very good spoon in the same way Scott wasn’t a very good mage.

His mother had never had the chance to see it awaken within him. Perhaps if she had, Scott would have a reason to improve. Scott’s father cared more about Scott than his magic, however, never pushing for him to use. So he rarely did. The most that Scott did with it, apart from his unintentional bouts of invisibility, was to coax struggling plants into growing. That much proved useful at least, for the flower shop. It allowed his father to expand their range, take over some of the burden and worry of flowers unaccustomed to their climate.

Scott only wished to alleviate the load that fell onto his father’s shoulders, both as a parent, a shop owner, and a tired widowed man. He could grow lilies to place on his mother’s tomb every week. It only took an hour, with the tome he had found on his mother’s bookshelf.

“Don’t push yourself, Scott,” his father would say with concern.

Scott would only ever smile, nod, and do it anyway. He didn’t know what toll magic could take upon his body if he went too far. 

Perhaps it could lock a jaw.

Mae’s feet beat the wood in time with the flute. She balanced on one leg, a smile plastered on her face. Katie followed, skipping behind as she played a joyful tune. The yellow feather tucked upon her head fluttered with her. Mae could feel the blood pulsing through her body, almost floating across the deck. Her curly hair bounced with each twirl and jump, unbound.

Nothing but joy filled her, fueled her, free to dance as she wanted. The ship became her stage, the seagulls her elated audience. Mae could keep going until her legs gave out. Even the rocking of the boat did not break her concentration. She adapted to the flow as if she had been part of the ocean herself, born of the waves and seafoam. 

Katie hopped atop the circular bench surrounding the mast. The notes screeched into highs for a second as she slipped. She caught herself before Mae could reach out, picking up the pace to a frenzied melody. Mae squealed in excitement and slipped to the centre of the deck. Arms extended to either side, Mae pushed onto her toes. She whipped the air with her leg, kicking into a fouetté as she brought her hands together in front of her. She spun again and again with maintained momentum. Her head snapped to Katie with each rotation, a single point to attach her vision, to remain steady. 

Katie’s song accelerated and so did Mae. Short of breath, the whistle of the wind in her ears, Mae gave all of her energy, completely losing herself into the dance. Finally, when she knew she couldn’t keep going, she settled with a leg down behind her. Her back curled until her hair brushed at her thigh. She reached an arm towards the sky and flicked her hand gracefully. The last notes carried in the wind, held out until she could not. Mae panted, bent backwards at the waist, and let the weight of her head tip it back. 

Mae’s gaze slipped from the thin trail of clouds to the upended doorway behind her. And ahead of that, a pair of moss green eyes.

“Ah!”

She slingshotted herself to an upwards position again, stumbling towards the mast at the sudden dizziness. Katie jumped out, her flute held in both hands and wound back as if it wouldn’t shatter on impact.

“I’ll protect you- Oh, Scott!”

Mae knew that 4C had been helping Scott walk and exercise every day. Get his muscles used to movement again and everything. However, it had always been the two of them within the sleeping quarters, sometimes even going as far as kicking anyone else out to use the hallway.

“Wait, you’re out, oh my gods!”

Katie lowered her makeshift sword, hands cupped around her face in excitement. Even though Mae knew, the sight of Scott leant in the doorway was not something she had expected. How long had he been watching? He even clapped lightly, as best he could. Mae rushed to him to grab his hands, faces close together.

“Hello!”

Scott startled at the sudden approach but didn’t try to move away. Mae stepped back, carefully pulling him along. He squinted as the shadows he had been keeping to fell away. The light of day bounced off his skin as though it radiated from him. When his vision finally adapted to the brightness, Scott’s eyes hesitantly fluttered open. They were so pretty, green flecked with yellow, made brighter by the direct sunlight. Long lashes curled, barely, over hooded lids. Even better up close. 

“I heard the music…”

Scott whispered, and Katie suddenly pressed up against Mae’s side. She almost vibrated with excitement. The grip of Scott’s fingers around Mae’s hands tightened.

“Yeah? Did you like it? I can play more for you! Anytime! You just need to- you don’t even need to ask, really, I’ll just play anyways. But you’re free to listen whenever.”

Katie bounced up and down on her feet as she chattered on. Seeing how far back her head tipped to look at him, Mae realised that Scott stood taller than even her. Not by much, but just enough to be noticeable. Thankfully it was her trousers he wore, Nom’s would have reached him mid-shin. 4C and Katie weren’t an option at all.

“Thank you.”

He looked down, bashful, and his eyelashes flared out over his cheekbones. The hollow beneath them had softened, no longer taut like sails on a windy day. Mae moved back to give Scott a bit more space to breathe. His gaze drifted back up and over to the side. 

“This town is so busy. Nothing like home.”

The Hoard had moored for resupply at a large port, a hurried mass of people slithering along the quay. Buildings extended far beyond, draped over the hills, beige stone crowded tightly above skinny alleyways. Nom and 4C had gone to place orders and bargain. Among other things. 4C surely wouldn’t do anything else.

“Oh, do you want to get a better look? We can go up! Come, come-”

Mae almost bolted backwards before remembering Scott’s state. She went slower instead, keeping their hands linked. Scott walked better than she thought but each rock of the boat tested his balance. He had made it from the sleeping cabin to the deck by himself, after all, but maybe he had used the wall as support. Katie followed, arms outstretched just in case. He caught on to Mae’s idea quickly when she kept guiding him towards the mast.

“I’m still not very strong…”

The crow’s nest towered far above them, the perfect viewpoint to oversee their surroundings. Every time she made the climb, Mae left all her worries behind. She loved it up above. Threads of conversations rose up to her, among crashing waves and flitting music. On days where they were far from any land, with no need to observe the distance, Mae brought a book with her. She could read all day long, thighs up against her chest, cramped in the small space, or reclining back with her feet over the railings.

“There’s a rope system they installed that we can hook you up to! I used to fall all the time.” 

She still did, but Scott didn’t need to know that. Katie patted the wooden beam, right near the bottom pulley, showing its sturdiness to Scott.

“And we’ll take you right down if you don’t feel safe, promise.”

4C had picked Mae up off the floor one too many times before putting the whole thing together. He said he’d had the scare of his life seeing her laying on the deck, after a tumble from up there. She apparently looked unconscious, or even dead in the obscured moonlight. Mae had just called it a common rolled ankle.

“I- Alright. I can try.”

Scott seemed curious enough about the sight to go for it. Katie cheered. Mae would be so careful to not hurt him. She would never forgive herself if anything happened to him because of her suggestion.

“Oh joyous day!”

Mae and Katie wrapped the strong leather bands around Scott’s hips and torso, a lot more meticulously than when Nom forced Mae to wear the harness. She always threw it on quickly and hoped his glasses weren’t quite clean enough to tell. They got dirty quickly with the sea spray, crystals of salt left behind.

Scott began his hesitant ascension up the rungs of the mast with Mae’s hands at his hips. The thick cord stayed taut as Katie pulled it in time, standing on the loose end. If Scott fell, somehow, her weight combined with that of the rope would keep him in place. 

Scott had barely made it out of Mae’s reach when his arms and legs began to protest. He wouldn’t fully recover for months still. He ate more, yes. He even seemed constantly hungry. Mae had noticed him sneaking food away during meal times only to take it back out later. She always ensured his plate was more than full. It hadn’t been nearly long enough to undo all of the damage though. Maybe some of the consequences would never fully go. His skin, no longer splitting at every movement, had healed into a field of thin lengths of pink. Scott covered them any time he noticed. She lent him longer sleeved shirts afterwards.

“I- I think that’s high enough!”

Mae focused back to the present moment, attention returning to the Scott above her. He had made it a little further, a third of the way up, twice as high as Mae was tall. He held on to the rungs with all of the strength in his trembling body. He seemed an open book with its pages fluttering in the wind. Already, his grip seemed to be slipping. Mae had barely scrambled up to Scott’s feet when the plank connecting the ship to the pontoon creaked.

“What are you- Mae?! What the hell!”

Nom would have Mae’s head. She looked at him just as he dropped a bulging sack from his shoulder to the deck. 4C followed closely behind. The open crate he carried, overfilled, joined the bag in an instant.

“Scott, are you alright?”

Silly question to ask when the guy clung to the mast for dear life. Mae cleared the final height in an instant, catching him at the waist to hold him close. Down below, Nom joined Katie in steadying the rope.

“Help?”

Scott whispered and Mae pulled him in tighter. She coaxed him, softly, to hold on to her instead. He shook against her as he eventually let go of the wood.

“I’m sorry I pushed you. I shouldn’t have.”

Mae climbed down slowly, instead of jumping as she usually would from this height. The two siblings accompanied them on the way down by letting the rope slip along with their descent. Nom’s eyes burned a hole into the back of her neck. Mae didn’t dare look at him. She would need to hide up there until he went to bed.

4C grabbed Scott when they came low enough. His legs gave out as soon as he tried to put any weight on them. Mae only let go when Scott settled on the bench at the base of the mast but his fingers held tight around her shirt. She felt… so bad. 

“Mae?”

Scott tugged her down until she sat beside him. His eyes, although they had just been wide with fear, softened. Her own already watered with guilt. Sweet boy.

“Thank you for showing me. When I’m stronger… I’ll go all the way up.”

Mae couldn’t hold the pained noise rising up, so she buried into his shoulder. She could imagine the two of them sitting in the crow’s nest, just watching land drift by along the horizon. She carded her fingers through his hair, so light under her gentle touch. Less of it fell out everyday. Even the empty patches bristled with new growth.

Katie coughed awkwardly, reminding Mae that they were in fact in the middle of the deck with the crew around them. Neither Scott nor Mae made a move to separate. She did at least look up to Katie gesturing towards what Nom and 4C had dropped.

“Soooo, what’s all this?”

Something had spilled from the sack in Nom’s hurry to drop it, a rich brown that Mae couldn’t identify. It just looked like dirt, really. The crate beside it overflowed with shapeless bundles of colourful fabric. 

“It’s for Scott. Seeds and stuff.”

Scott had asked for a few things from the markets in town, according to 4C. Was this it? Actual dirt? At least it wasn’t manure, Mae supposed, but did he really not want anything else? Maybe he didn’t feel like he could ask for anything else. Next time they docked, Mae would take him out into town until they found something he liked.

“I’d thought you made plants yourself.”

4C said as he dragged the crate closer to Scott’s feet. Mae followed the movement when Scott bent to take one, unwilling to separate. The orange fabric had clumsily embroidered letters along the hem, closed with a knotted piece of cord. Mae couldn’t even tell what was written there, but some of the others were more legible. Carrot, parsnip, wheat…

“Doesn’t last if it comes from nothing. Maybe if I was strong-”

Scott’s sentence ended abruptly as he instead focused on undoing the bundle. The fabric slipped open and he buried his fingers inside. The seeds rattled when he pulled one out into his palm. Broad and flat. Pumpkin, as Mae recognised.

“Magic is like braiding, it falls apart without an anchor.”

Scott raised both hands ahead of him. Mae’s mouth parted when a gentle glow bloomed in each of them. It shone the light green of new growth. Katie and 4C approached, standing on either side. She knew about magic, obviously, knew what it could do, but she had never witnessed it so up close. Shivering leaves rose up, wide heart-shapes atop a lengthening stem.

“Woah!”

The growth continued for another few moments before the light dimmed and faded. The seed had split, its sprouted roots reaching around Scott in search of a place to tether, like a handshake. For lack of a base, the other plant stood on its own. It only took another seagull’s cry for it to start to shrivel. The leaves curled in on themselves, fading to brown. 

“See? Gone already.”

The magic plant withered in half the time it had taken to grow. The other had not changed, apart from not rising at unnatural speeds. Nom took the seedling when Scott extended the hand towards him, nodding. The roots still reached Scott’s way as they unraveled.

“And you can do that with any plant?”

Katie’s eyes fell to the crate. Nom spun the stem between two fingers and the leaves shuddered wildly. He squinted, not following the conversation. Mae looked away before she could decipher his thought process. There usually was very little with Nom.

“I think so. I haven’t tried all of them.”

Scott answered with a nod. Of course. How could he? There had to be thousands, tens of thousands of types of plants in the world. Even an elf, well, half-elf, would not have time to see them all.

“I don’t think you should be eating that.”

4C’s doubtful statement made Nom freeze like a dog caught chewing on a shoe. A leaf poked out of his lips gracelessly. Katie’s face wrinkled into a distraught expression.

“What?”

He still had half of the plant in hand and clearly intended to go for another bite. Mae, despite herself, wondered how it tasted. Maybe it wasn’t that bad, for Nom, of all people, to eat leafy greens. He could also have been doing it out of enjoyment of Katie’s reaction. Yes, that sounded more correct.

“I can’t believe you’re the older one.”

Katie shook her head with a deep sigh. That very sentence could be heard rather commonly on the Hoard. Nom’s usual retort, ‘You should have been born sooner then, idiot’, didn’t make an appearance today.

“You can eat the seeds and the flesh, why not the rest of it? I’m preventing waste!”

Scott, who had been watching silently, pressed a fist over his mouth. It didn’t quite conceal his giggle, as Nom clearly straightened at the sound. Making no other mention of it, he extended the rest of the pumpkin plant to Katie’s face. She stepped back hurriedly.

“No, I don’t want your leftovers, ew!”

Nom lunged forward and Katie shrieked. As they chased each other around the deck, 4C dropped in relief onto the bench. Scott’s eyes followed the rambunctious siblings runnin around.

“The tailor’s took forever because Nom was so specific about it but he wouldn’t let me leave.”

Mae had been subject to ordering duty before. It was a lot less wandering than she would like and more so walking around town endlessly. At least Nom could plow through a crowd. Not much faster than how both Mae and 4C slipped between people dexterously, but it took a lot less energy to follow in the path he shouldered open.

“Are you getting new clothes?”

Scott asked curiously. Not quite 4C’s type to buy an outfit. He preferred to mend what he had, as evidenced by the many stitches in his cloak. Mae had learned new sewing techniques from him, apparently they did it differently in the Moonlit Swamps.

“Oh no, they’re for- you…”

Eyebrows pulled together, Scott tilted his head in confusion. Nom froze from where he had cornered Katie on the upper deck, his head slowly turning their way. In a blink, he dropped the seedling and hopped over the railing, down to their level. Mae blinked at the realisation.

“4C!”

The slime fled as though the fires of hell itself lapped at his heels.

The rain beating down on Nom’s back wasn’t strong enough to be considered lashing, but it sure fell hammer-heavy. At least, no wind accompanied it, the ocean calm apart from its wrinkled surface. Nom had long forgone his glasses. Two droplets splattered on the lenses rendered them useless. He couldn’t see very much but he didn’t need to. The Hoard wouldn’t be going anywhere, lazily drifting along, since Nom had the crew furl the sails. Navigating in heavy rain was no good, but it didn’t matter enough to wake 4C.

What Nom had in fact seen, however, was Scott heading below deck when the rain was still mist. He only ever went for access to the gardening room, an unoccupied space they had adapted for his plants. The trapdoor descending into the belly of the ship had remained firmly shut ever since. The only other way out was blocked off, the side rail of the ladder completely split and unable to take any weight. Nom knew that very well. Both because he had caused it and had been avoiding the task of fixing it.

However, all that meant Scott had remained below deck for the past however long this rain had been falling. Long enough to start soaking through the seams of Nom’s leather coat. Hm. Should he be concerned? Scott was an adult who could take care of himself, better than Nom at that. Not the type to poke around the more dangerous stuff they had in storage. But he could have tripped. Or fainted.

Maybe Nom was concerned.

The wheel could mind itself while Nom went to check. Just to be safe. He tied it in place with leather, ensuring it would at least hold its direction. He scampered down the quarterdeck. All noise muted when the trapdoor slammed shut above him. The rain seemed a distant memory now. The hallway, cast with dramatic shadows, laid empty save for a sack of grain that Nom should have taken to the kitchen. One of Katie’s lute rested against it. A single ray of light filtered from a room off to the side, past the main hold. Scott’s garden room.

“Need any watering?”

Nom pushed open the ajar door, leaving a puddle trail behind him. His playful tone fell when Scott, who he could swear to have seen sitting in the corner of the room, flashed into nothing.

“Wha- Scott?”

Had Nom started hallucinating? Maybe 4C was right, that damned slime, Nom did need to sleep more. Or maybe sleep better. Katie always said he stayed in bed longer than her, unable to be awoken even when she shook him with all her might. Nom almost shouted when Scott returned.

“Sorry, sorry- I didn’t mean to.”

More so than Scott’s apparent ability to shift in and out of existence, Nom found himself disarmed by his evident distress. Even with no glasses on, rendering his vision to that of a worm, Nom couldn’t miss the way Scott curled in on himself.

“That’s, that’s fine.”

For once in Nom’s life, he had no idea of what to say. Therefore, he didn’t say anything. Shedding his coat to hang on the doorknob, Nom sidestepped the wooden crates repurposed as planting boxes. Even the bunch of daffodils, in their own pot near the door, hung their heads low.

He sat down an elbow’s length away from Scott, who glanced in his direction. Nom could distinguish his face a little better now, although still not well. The flame of the candles, surrounded by glass to prevent them from setting the ship ablaze, reflected in Scott’s eyes. His lashes seemed a darker line, clumped together in spikes.

Something was wrong. Obviously. Only Nom didn’t know what. Didn’t know how to help.

Scott sniffled, quietly. He wiped at his eyes with the sleeve of his newly-bought shirt. The lavender embroidered along the cuffs and collar, at Nom’s insistent request, could be mistaken for jewellery. They looked just right near Scott’s pale skin, made livelier by contrast with the blue fabric. His cheeks and nose had flushed darker already from the crying.

For a time, they sat in the silence of their closed room. Raindrops thudded against the deck just as it dripped from Nom’s coat. A constant flow fell just as steady from Scott’s eyes, although he stopped his attempts to hide them. 

“I kept-”

The tightness in Scott’s voice made the words come out restrained, almost whiny. He cleared his throat, fidgeting with his shirt.

“Kept trying to leave but it- I just. All I can picture is that day again, or well, I think it was day, I don’t quite remember. Between the storm and the rocking and when they…”

He couldn’t bring himself to say any more, but Nom understood. From the first time Scott had said it, Nom couldn’t help but picture it. A man tumbled over the edge of a ship. Sank into foamy waters.

“When they sent you off.”

Nom completed. He remembered the storm in the distance from when they had found Scott. He had adjusted their trajectory to stay away from its threatening dark clouds. Mae had been able to see the waves rise and fall from the crow’s nest through her spyglass.

“Yes, that. When I try to sleep, it just- creeps up on me.”

Nom knew all too well those visions coming to mind when you wanted them the least. He had taken to tiring himself out, staying up the latest he could before collapsing. No thoughts to be had if he fell into sleep like a log.

“Does it scare you being here? Without land?”

If Scott had never been on a boat before, it would only make sense for him to be uncomfortable. The addition of his horrific abduction could only make the matter worse. However, Scott shook his head.

“It’s not the ocean itself that scares me, more of… falling. I guess.”

Falling. That made sense. Even now, despite the flat sea, the roll of the waves brought them up and down gently. Any more amplitude would send Scott’s stomach dropping.

“Suppose I’m the opposite then.”

Nom huffed, amused by the parallel that drew itself between them. Two sides of the same coin of being cast overboard.

“Hm?”

From the corner of his vision, Nom could tell Scott had turned to look at him. He kept his gaze locked firmly ahead, however, not meeting it. Those eyes were too earnest for him to bear right now.

“The water. I am- I guess I am scared of it in a way. Gods, I really hope none of the others hear me say that, they’d never let me live this down.”

Nom hadn’t ever spoken about the truth of the matter with anyone. To them, he simply refused to go in the ocean, tried his best to prevent any of them from doing so too. Not that they listened to him. He didn’t hold their relentless teasing about the subject against them. How could they know, after all, if he hadn’t said it? His admission of it, the fear, after denying it all this time, would only bring more hardships his way.

“A sailor who’s scared of water?”

Even now, saying it out loud to Scott made it feel more real in a way that Nom did not like. An image appeared at the back of his eyelids with each of his blinks. He shivered unconsciously, fighting the vision that had no place in his head.

“I just- I don’t like it. It’s weird, I’m well aware.”

In the boat of his mind, Nom watched the island silhouetted against the horizon. The water foamed and bubbled white, an innocent disguise to the treacherous rocks it hid below. Sharp points jutted out of the surface, barely after each passing wave. No endless tide could wash off the blood or take away the bones littering the sea floor. 

A warmth pressed against Nom’s side. His eyes, shut tightly without his instruction, snapped back open at the touch. Scott had shifted closer to Nom until their arms made contact from shoulder to elbow. 

“Almost like a mage who can’t control their own magic, huh?”

Scott bumped into him. His tone had lifted to something gentler, lighthearted. His tears had stopped, somewhere between talking out his troubles and listening to Nom’s own. Their individual situations were pretty comical, in a twisted way. One with no choice and the other who made it, both stuck facing what they feared.

"Land, the surface, we can explore all of it. But the depths? Gods only know what lives down there and it's better this way."

Nom had never been a religious man by any means. He had made acquaintances with enough fervent believers to be repulsed by the idea of some higher being holding people’s fates over their heads. The ocean though? He left that all up to the… Ocean God? Water God? Fish God? Whatever they may be, as long as it was not Nom.

"There's merfolk?"

Scott stated, although he didn’t sound too certain. He slowly extended his legs along Nom’s, crossing them at the knee. He held all his tallness in them, Nom realised. Scott’s shoulder barely sat above his but his feet reached noticeably further. Nom usually never even paid any mind to height, content with what he had. However, something about the knowledge pulled at his stomach.

"Tales of them maybe..."

After all this time out on the high seas, Nom had caught neither tail nor fin of one. He didn’t enjoy thinking too much about the possibility of some underwater society. Full of creatures with pretty voices and shiny scales to lure you down before ripping you apart with blade-sharp teeth.

"One saved me. I think."

Scott said after a moment. By the way his voice had quietened, it was very obvious when he meant. Nom braced himself for tears to gather in Scott’s eyes again. 

"What? No way." 

Crying people typically put him on edge, he never knew how to act. Would Scott want a hug? Reassurance? That was what Mae wanted when she cried. Which was a reasonably common occurrence, though less than when they had originally met. Nom’s fault, most of the time.

"Well, I don't think there are pink fish your size out there."

Scott… did not cry. When Nom turned his head to check, he found Scott already looking at him. A tentative smile pulled at Scott’s lips as he gazed up and down. Was that a height joke? Not very funny. 

Not at all.

Nom wanted to get Scott to laugh again.

"There could be. It’d be some huge fish, I tell you.”

Although the thought would normally send shivers down his spine, joking about it with Scott felt different. Safer. As if it was all very far away and not potentially right below them, past the wooden hull of this nutshell of a boat. Scott huffed softly, eyes crinkling with a warmth that Nom rarely saw.

“I’d rather believe that there are good things everywhere.”

Even after the hell Scott had been through, he still had it in him to find light. Or perhaps because of that hell that Scott was strong enough to have hope. 

“Then you’re a better man than me.”

Nom envied him for it. Sure, Katie called Nom overambitious or too optimistic, but that was different. Nom believed in himself and the people he trusted, believed that he could pull through whatever they went through. Scott apparently believed that the world itself could be a forgiving place. Rarer than gold, worth more than gems.

“Although… The treasure is tempting, I will say, but even I’m not greedy enough to brave it.”

The deep laugh rising from Nom’s chest made Scott tense up slightly. For him to relax, Nom diverted his attention towards the plants. They grew well under Scott’s care. Strong stems carried green leaves, each crate marked with the name of what it held. Scott had carved them out with Nom’s knife. He spent a few hours here everyday tending to them, bathing them with gentle magic to encourage their growth. Scott went slowly to not strain himself. His magic had unpredictable tendencies, so he said, especially without the book he used to control it. The mages Nom had known didn’t rely on books though, more so on staffs.

“I think you’re a good man still.”

Scott whispered after a long string of silence.

Maybe Nom was a plant too, with how his heart grew two sizes beneath his ribs.

He stared at the random shapes that Scott’s index traced along the tight weave of his trousers. His hand dwarfed Nom’s which he had forced to lay still on his lap. Where Scott had square palms and bony fingers, Nom’s thick hand was more fingers than palm. The shortness of Scott’s nails seemed from splits rather than bitten raw. 

They looked soft next to Nom’s calluses. 

It was really close. Within reach.

Nom’s hand clenched to a fist at his side when he pushed to stand up. He felt Scott’s eyes on him as he went digging into the internal pocket of his coat. The water had dried on his glasses, leaving behind rings of salt. He scratched them off and wiped the fingerprints away onto his shirt. Nom needed to busy his hands before he did something stupid.

“I’ll be right back.”

Nom slipped back into the hallway, his vision now clearer. Most of Katie’s instruments, she kept in her room when not using them, but her scatterbrained self often left them lying around. In this case, it became a blessing that she had forgotten the cittern, if any, down here. Perhaps when Mae had been taking inventory? Either way, Nom grabbed its neck and returned to Scott’s side. This time, he sat directly by him.

No dawdling.

“You play?”

Scott murmured his question. He didn’t need to be any louder. Nom pulled the flat body close to his chest, cupping its neck carefully. His fingers drifted along the familiar weathered wood. The metal of the strings hissed when he traced up and down them to check their state. They would need replacing pretty soon, but Nom had made backups.

“The whole bard thing was always more Katie’s dream but I can play the cittern.”

And that dream did she achieve. She owned more instruments than clothes, one always within reach. Most of them took up the floor space in her room in some hyper specific arrangement that she claimed to know. Nom doubted it but it was her stuff after all. If he let her, the ship would sink from the weight of a million drums and flutes.

Nom plucked at the strings. A jolly song reverberated in the wooden body against his stomach. Scott rocked side to side in time. The movement pushed Nom with it, just barely, but he didn’t mind. Nom hummed along, snippets of lyrics slipping past his lips when he could remember them. Across the room, the daffodils swayed to his melody.

Encouraged by Scott’s enjoyment of the music, Nom kept playing, filling the otherwise empty room. He moved on to slower rhythms, softer songs. Scott’s head tipped to the side, heavier by the second. Nom raised his shoulder to allow Scott to rest there comfortably, even though it pulled at his hair painfully. He could feel his music echo where their bodies met. The vibrations wrapped around them like a web. No. A blanket. His fingers kept plucking at the strings for Scott to be lulled to sleep.

Worried the sound might wake him, Nom played more gently still. In the glow of the candles, he looked peaceful, sweet by Nom’s side. The light threaded through his hair crowned him in gold. His cheeks had softened with each day that passed, a far cry from the gaunt face he had come to them with. Nom was happy to see him get better. It was only when he stopped playing that Scott’s eyes opened again, not without struggle.

Nom watched him awaken, a sunrise he never managed to witness. Dark lashes brushed over Scott’s cheeks with each blink. If only to keep them away, Nom’s fingers strummed at the strings mindlessly. The metal didn’t quite feel like hair. It would have to do. 

“Thank you.”

Scott spoke softly after a moment of observing his own hands like he discovered them for the first time. Maybe some confusion remained from his drifting off. Everything had gone quiet now. No more rain.

“For what?”

Only two beating hearts, one that sent blood beating at his temples and another, quieter, beside him. Nom’s pulse kept a slow pace, but it pumped with all its might. He hoped Scott couldn’t hear it.

“For… everything, really. But I meant, the clothes. Didn’t get the chance to say anything earlier.”

Mae had immediately whisked Scott away to get him to try them on. Nom regretted neither the time nor money he had spent to ensure the clothing would be perfect. Each item had embroidery of plants so that Scott could carry them with him. Nom had even dug out the one gardening book they had onboard and forced the swirling words to focus. He had learnt a lot about protective flowers.

“You didn’t have to.”

Just the bashful surprise that coppered Scott’s face when Nom presented him with the package had been reward enough.

Of negligence.

4C stuck to the walls, even in the hallway darkened by drawn curtains. The house, as he hoped, proved deserted save for the drowned out sounds in the basement. He just had to get in and out, quickly. Which was crazy, to be frank, considering how fancy it was for the Moonlit Swamps. The imposing stone building stuck out like a sore thumb among the more modest wooden homes smattered around. Its size, including a second story, made locating the correct room just a little bit longer. Thankfully for 4C, the well-oiled doors made no sound upon opening. On his third attempt, 4C found the place he had been searching for, obvious from the gold shape that shone on the window sill. 

The mirror cockily displayed had been visible from outside, where 4C had set his sights on it. Something that glittered in the sun and sent dots of light all around the room must be worth more money than 4C could even imagine. All of the house furnishings seemed to be, really, but he could hardly run away with a carved table tucked in his cloak. 

This, though, he could. The metal frame, cold in his palms, weighed more than he had expected. He marvelled for a second at the inlaid gems, a rainbow of colours that 4C had never seen so saturated. But came footsteps.

Footsteps in the hallway, softened by the rug. 4C had to dash. Right now. He reached for the window but the handle didn’t budge. He forced the panel up until a gap formed, not enough for him to fit through. Damned luck! 

A glance back revealed that 4C had no more time. A bulky silhouette blocked the doorway, barely wide enough to fit both large shoulders within, cutting off 4C’s escape. Clearly not a slime. They stared, unnerved, as if they knew he simply would not get away.

“You’ll make for good game.”

Whatever that meant. 4C didn’t want to know. Abandon the mirror, he didn’t need it so badly. With another rough push, the window groaned, finally giving way. 4C scrambled to stuff himself into the opening, uncaring of the drop ahead. He would bounce anyways. Or, he would have, if his cloak hadn’t been caught in a strong grip. Threads popped at the strength.

“Don’t!”

The neckline dug into 4C’s throat as he got roughly pulled back over the window sill. Glass glinted. The mirror shattered on the ground.

“You can keep it. It won’t help where you’re going.”

Katie mourned. The loss came too soon, too sharp. The incredible beauty of a hand pan would never be hers. Use your own money, Nom had said when she begged him to buy it, but she had been saving up for a Solunian springdrum. Ah, she would only have to dream about its resonant metal concavities. Perhaps next time they came around. Instead, she sat playing three way Farkle with 4C and Scott under the shade of trees. 

Scott had started the day walking around town with Mae but his still weakened state had shown quickly, forcing him to take a break. But Farkle, that took little energy. Scott was in the lead, not by much but enough that Katie really needed a lucky turn to catch up. He had picked it up surprisingly quickly, despite never having even heard of it before. They didn’t have Farkle in Barrowhill, apparently. 

It had been raining when they moored the previous day, making it all the more annoying to wrap the lines around the bollards. Not that Katie actually did any of that. She rather stayed out of the way as instructed while 4C, Mae and Nom worked in tandem. She had explained to Scott what each person was doing, since he watched curiously.

Thankfully however, the rain had given way to an overcast sky that cleared up by morning to bundles of cottonous clouds. They needed it. The ship name finally was being painted on the hull, replacing the old one. About time. Goodbye, Creakheart, an awfully ominous name for a boat anyway. Welcome, officially, Dragon’s Hoard.

In his haste to go off on the high seas, Nom hadn’t bothered changing the name after buying the boat. Always the impatient man, her brother. They didn’t have the opportunity to get it done until now, years later.

“Four ones? Oh Katie, we’re done for.”

She looked back to the dice on the stone they gathered around. Indeed, four single dots stared back. With a drawn out groan, Katie threw herself back to lay in the grass. Scott laughed and patted her knee comfortingly.

“You have to be cheating. There’s just no way-”

She straightened again, leaning in to inspect the dice. She picked them up, one by one, and examined them from every angle. They had to be weighted or something. It was the third game in a row that he had won.

“Beginner’s luck?”

Katie held up a finger to Scott’s face, missing his mouth and instead almost poking his eye out. This was important work. No, the dice looked perfectly normal, the same as they always did. Hm, must have been made by a very talented craftsperson, one with knowledge in deception. Her suspicious gaze rose to 4C.

“You’re both in on this, aren’t you? You’ve- made some kind of alliance against me.”

The die rolled off the stone when she threw it, losing itself in the grass. Come on.

But no, Scott wouldn’t do that. Even Nom wouldn’t. The stupid luck that followed him, the one he loved bragging about, would be enough to make him win. Katie had already been crushed by him before, many times over. Once, he even won on his first turn before Katie could get a single 50 points. That rotten boy.

Katie didn’t even have a clue where he had gone, only last having seen him the evening before. He had either been gone all night or left really quietly in the morning. Which, as everyone who met him knew, simply was not an option. This meant that wherever Nom had gone, he had spent the night there. Even 4C had no idea when she had asked. She didn’t like it. Not one bit.

Katie really really hoped he hadn’t gotten embroiled with one of those fighting groups again. He used to go almost every night they docked and told her all the cuts and bruises had been from dumb stuff. Running into a doorknob, dropping his knife while cooking, hell, even tripping over a paver and smashing his face into a bench. Who in the world would believe that? Nom had never been clumsy, that was more Katie’s thing. She knew exactly what those injuries looked like, should look like, and it certainly had not been what Nom was coming home with.

It would not have scarred gnarly and lopsided, spanning the length of his chest, along his arms, across his jaw.

And Katie hadn't even known any of it! How could she have not realised? He had brought 4C back one morning. He said he had seen the slime logging sacks of grain about, that he was looking for a better job and that Nom had offered him a spot on the Hoard. Screw that.

Of course, none of it was true but Katie hadn't known any of it until months later when 4C mentioned Nom's fighting skills. They didn’t fight on the ship, not in the way 4C meant. Not physically. And why would a guy whose job was carrying things have seen Nom fight?

That had been a very bad week on the Hoard. 4C and Mae locked themselves in a room together for days, Nom sat at the wheel until he collapsed onto it from exhaustion, and Katie was just left trying to take care of them all despite being the one who was wronged in the first place! 

A die hit her in the shin. Katie looked up to the game that Scott and 4C had started while she zoned out. Blades of grass stuck to her palms, two bald patches where her hands had rested. She brushed them off onto her hip, where the long flouncy part of her corset would hide any stain. Her dress was green already anyway. Scott met her gaze when she turned her head his way. His brows angled down, almost hidden beneath his growing bangs. She smiled to dismiss the quiet show of concern. 

Oh, she hoped Nom would come back soon and prove her wrong.

Something large and heavy flattened Katie forward. She screamed like she had just been impaled through and through, failing to knock off whatever was on top of her. 4C, very unhelpfully, rolled on the ground with shrieks of laughter. When they finally had their fill of making her a show animal, with how all the other people nearby stared at their antics, the person behind released her. Mae settled next to Katie, apologetically rubbing her arm. She still giggled to herself as she did.

“These two are so annoying, right Scott?”

Katie turned to him for support against her two rather aggravating friends. It wasn’t easy being the youngest of the crew, and also apparently so amusing to mess with. They just loved being around her so much. They couldn’t help themselves.

“Well… you’re not without blame either.”

Scott answered after a moment. 4C failed at stifling a snicker into his glove as Katie gasped. She swore her lungs might burst from the amount of air she took in.

“What?! How could you say that?! I am just such a delight to be around-”

The nerve, the audacity, the offence! Scott needed to stop hanging around Nom, that rotten boy was a bad influence on him. She clenched her fists.

“Oh no.”

Mae whispered between inhales shuddery with laughter. Katie threw herself back into the grass, one arm cast over her face. She splayed out, one of her feet landing on Mae’s lap. 4C couldn’t contain himself any longer, almost howling now. She hoped the other onlookers would enjoy this thrilling performance.

“I’m so hurt. You wound me, Scott.”

Oh yes, his words were a knife to the gut. A very pointy one that Nom had sharpened from rust. A hand pressed to her side, Katie writhed in pain. She could almost feel the warm blood seep into her dress, slip between her fingers and flow down her arm.

“This is exactly what he was talking about, Katie.”

Mae, with tremors in her voice, had to breathe in deeply several times. An attempt at calming herself. A vain one, if Katie had anything to do with it.

“Oh this pain- it is excruciating, I must die from it.”

She continued, lifting the arm off her eyes to instead reach towards Scott. Her fingers trembled and curled as the strength left her. It dropped limp onto the ground before Scott could grab her hand. Beauty in the face of death. The buzzing of her ears overshadowed the undoubtedly rapturous applause of the crowd that must have gathered around to watch.

“Sounds like you don’t need any of this food Mae brought then. Too bad.”

Katie’s body resurrected in a miracle never before witnessed, that had nothing to do with dark arts. She lunged for the fabric bag on the stone but 4C snatched it away. He put it behind his back, the way Mae must have when she had sneaked up on Katie initially.

“Nononono- I’m not dying, I’m alive-”

Perhaps the pain in her stomach had not been a magnificent display of acting but simple animalistic hunger. Good thing that nobody had actually been watching then. Scott giggled and handed her one of the two honeyed doughs he held. 

“To replenish your energy after such a harrowing experience.”

Through the sticky paper wrapped at its base, Katie could tell it had been fried recently but not enough for it to burn. The perfect temperature. Fragrant spices filled her mouth from the very first mouthful, a lot less distinguished than Scott’s careful bites. Each one crunched with nuts and chewy dough. 

Delicious. 

Mae and 4C shared some kind of savoury pie, although Katie couldn’t quite tell what the filling was made of. Still, the miscellaneous ingredients emitted a rather appetizing smell. If they had any leftovers, Katie might try convincing them to hand them over. For now though, she filled up on the pastry. Nom was a decent cook, she would admit, but a baker? Awful. Even Katie had more skill in that realm, and she had managed to make what 4C called the most brick-like cake he had ever seen. Katie didn’t think he had seen many cakes before anyways, so who cared about 4C’s opinion? It tasted fine. To her.

A playful gust of wind sent some hair into Katie’s face, fallen from the ribbon that tied it back. One strand stuck to the tacky residue around her lips, she tugged it away with amusement rather than frustration. The sun warmed the bare skin of her arms and cheeks pleasantly. As she sucked a glob of honey from her thumb, the last remnant of her sweet snack, Katie closed her eyes. She reveled in the feeling of simply sitting there with her friends. Such a scene would never have happened, were they still in Blue Kingdom. No 4C, despite the circumstances of his arrival. No Scott, though he soon would have to go again. For as much as living on a ship could be taxing, stressful, quite literally at the whims of the ocean, the freedom of exploration more than made up for all the shortcomings. The Hoard was home now.

Katie didn’t regret leaving one bit.

Until a loud shout shattered the moment of serene contemplation.

“There you are!”

Nom groaned as he ran right up to them. He coughed, bent forward with one hand on his knee to regain a semblance of countenance. He still looked like a moron.

“Why are you so out of breath?”

4C lifted himself to a crouch, ready to bolt at potential danger. Katie scanned her brother rapidly for any indications of where he had been. No cuts, no blood that she could see, but Nom had an arm hidden behind his back. Concealing an injury, perhaps. The dark curves beneath his eyes were bruise-like, but not that of a fight. Nom tapped his chest, forcing his breath to settle before he answered.

“Remember that princess whose hand I won? Yeah, she's here and her knight has not forgotten me.”

To nobody’s surprise. From the brisk conversation Katie had shared with Knight Apokuna, she didn’t seem the type to either forgive or forget. Katie would concede, unfortunately, that her brother was not forgettable either.

“Huh?”

Scott asked belatedly. Maybe one person’s surprise then. Katie understood though, it must be hard to reconcile the idea that a brute like Nom could not only have encountered a princess but also be owed by her. Yet another show of luck. 4C leaned over to whisper to Scott.

“In Farkle. He won her hand in Farkle.”

Obviously. What else would Nom win at?

Well.

Many things, realistically, but Farkle made the top of the list. The pouch at his waist, full and heavy with gold, could attest. Swimming came pretty far down, although still higher than anything to do with emotions. Not good at those, her brother, whether it be feeling them or talking about them. Or considering the ones from other people. Case in point, literally taking the princess’s hand from her knight.

“It's a whole thing, I can tell you later.” 

Mae added. Really no one seemed to be listening to Nom’s grand recounting of his re-encounter with Solunian royalty. Katie was pretty used to tuning him out after all the lectures she had received.

“It really is just for playing Farkle.”

Katie clarified quickly. Princess Cherri was nice, but gods, what a horrible match for Nom. She deserved much better. Not that she had any interest in him anyway, more so in her knight if the glances they shared meant anything. Plus Katie was too young to be a sister-in-law.

“But I escaped with no issues, of course. Anyways, for now- this is yours.”

Nom stepped around Katie as he brought his hidden arm out. In it rested a long baton of metal, with the pale shine of aluminium. The lightest metal, as he had repeated a billion times the one time Katie had toured the blacksmith where he briefly apprenticed. Melted ropes of gold twisted up along the stick, protruding into clusters of bells at random intervals. The top opened up like a star, its five points folding back down to reveal more gold at its centre.

“I've never quite practiced decorative forging but… This was the best I could manage.”

Nom’s jacket hung from his shoulders, sleeves limp. It was way too warm for leather, but he insisted it was part of his image, that idiot. He could enjoy his heatstroke. Had he only taken it to hide the staff? Nom would never think that far ahead. The pocket nearest Katie bulged with something off-white. She leaned in, stretching out her spine, to spot a bouquet of lilies. Both the classic white and bell-shaped ones, dried out and withered as if they had been in an oven for hours on end. Oh. Oh!

“It's perfect, Nom. Thank you.”

Scott stood on unsteady legs, hands reached out to receive the gift. Hesitant. He flickered in and out of view like a trick of the light. As soon as his fingers touched the staff, however, the grass at his feet moved. The green ocean rippled outwards from Scott. Stems burst up. In an instant, they crowned with butterfly-shaped blooms of pink and blue. They wrapped around the group, climbing them to reach greater heights. The flowers ensnared Scott and Nom up to the waist and chest, respectively while capturing the seated trio in a gentle cage. Katie found herself drowned in the cloying sweet scent, not too far from her pastry if much more floral. Dewy, even. Maybe she could ask Scott to take some, she would love to fill her room with that fragrance.

Katie rose to her feet, careful to not pull at any plant, although they slipped off in favour of wrapping at her legs. The feat had not stopped there. Nearby rose bushes, although their flowering season had ended already, bloomed again. The branches plied under the weight of petals that looked just as soft as the peaches they shared their colour with.

Amongst them, more plants had sprouted that definitely had not been part of the garden beds when they first arrived. Tall stalks swayed with vibrant pink flowers, speckled brown at the throat. Petals emerged almost trumpet-like before widening at the ends.

“Princesses…”

Scott’s whisper got swallowed up as sounds of surprise and admiration erupted nearby. Oh, so now people wanted to applaud, huh? Okay, fine, maybe this was more impressive than Katie’s false death. But still.

“Woah.”

Mae rose beside Katie, marvelling when the closest flowers curled at her wrist. The area had already been rather beautiful previously, but now? Dreamlike. Katie grabbed 4C, tugging him to his feet. She then hooked her arm under Mae’s and took off frolicking, her friends forced to follow along. The plants leaned aside to let them pass at no danger to themselves. As they looped back around, Mae took hold of Scott and 4C of Nom. Scott stumbled at the sudden pull, his arm caught by Nom before he could fall. Katie kept guiding them in a circle. Giggles intertwined with the bell chimes ringing from her belt. Scott’s airy hair bobbed with each hop, smile unrestrained on his flushed face.  Even Nom laughed along, joining her antics without protest. What a joyous day!

Scott’s feet stopped their frenzied dance first. The staff still in his hand landed as something to lean on. Although his breath struggled to even out, Katie caught glimpses of his ears fluttering through the translucent curtains of his hair. Although some strands remained shorter, most now fell past his shoulders in wide curls. Katie wished her hair could grow that fast. Must be an elf thing.

Scott probably wouldn’t know either. He hadn’t met any elves other than his mother and, well. He hadn’t given any details, but clearly she had crossed the rainbow bridge to the other side. Still Katie wondered how much their childhoods could have in common. He was the closest in age to her, after all, and they hadn’t grown up so far away from each other.

“Is there sand in Barrowhill?”

Scott blinked at her, almost taken aback by the sudden question. To Katie though, it was a crucial piece of information. One to set the tempo of their friendship. It wouldn’t determine whether or not they were friends. That answer had been established as a yes the very second Scott had tried to hold her hand.

“It’s very inland.”

Right, so when Katie had said she had heard the name before, that was really it. Geography had never been her strong suit. But anyways, that was not the point of the question.

“So you’ve never put your feet in the sand? We need to fix that right now, let’s go!”

Katie grabbed Scott’s elbow and started walking. She pulled him along, towards the beach near the docks. They had caught her eye since their arrival. Scott followed behind, his new staff a makeshift walking stick, but he kept up.

“Don’t let her throw any at you!”

Nom’s voice reached them from behind. Katie turned her head over her shoulder and stuck her tongue out at him. He had that look of caution in his eyes, even though he let them go by themselves. She should fill up her pockets before heading back for the ship. She would have put some in his bed if only Scott didn’t sleep in it.

Fog floated low over the water, surrounding the ship from all sides. Only the lanterns hung around the deck gave any indication of its edges. Even the bow disappeared into mist, its main light blurred. 4C, at the wheel, had taken out a map and spread it on top of a nearby crate. Although he had no points of reference to determine their exact position, he knew from his last check that no land masses were near. Or should be.

He really hoped he hadn’t made a mistake somewhere.

Still, 4C had woken Nom as a second pair of eyes the moment the fog creeped in. Better one day tired than an eternity drowned. Together, they had furled the sails away to slow down as much as possible. Both of them had a light at their belt to indicate their position to the other. Nom’s wandered back and forth across the deck, blurred.

The waters splitting below carried the ship too far from the bottom for them to anchor, much to 4C’s dismay. He so wished he could drop it and stop the boat instead of sailing blind. If it weren't both foggy and dark, 4C would also have gotten Mae out of bed. The crow's nest damnedly lost itself in swirling mist just from the wheel. No way would she be able to see anything else from up there.

A blonde head emerged from the door beneath 4C, swaying slightly from the waves rocking the ship. Mild waves still, but just enough for the deck to dip along them.

“Bad night for stargazing.”

Only the tensing of shoulders showed Scott’s startle, concealed beneath the thick green cloak that must be Mae’s. He looked up as he turned. His face, cast in shadows from the faint lantern light, was the only moon in sight amidst the flickering stars.

“I just needed to get out.”

He had his staff in hand, an additional point of support for his weight. It clicked every time it came in contact with something. Scott, slowly, climbed the stairs to join the quarterdeck. 4C grabbed the nearby map and rolled it back up to free up the crate for Scott to sit. He should probably put it away before the humidity did any more damage.

Scott hopped to settle atop the crate. His legs dangled although they nearly reached the floor. He wouldn’t need to stand atop an empty box like 4C to see above the wheel. His eyes lost themselves into the fog that floated by them. 4C kept his head on a swivel to ensure nothing emerged from it, hands at the bars of the wheel. 

“It really does look like a dream.”

Scott whispered after a long moment of quiet. As if there weren’t only three other people within a day’s journey that could have overheard. 4C had been in this sort of endless void before, but that had been a more hellish landscape.

“I haven’t been on the Hoard for that long but I’m pretty sure this is a sailor’s nightmare.”

It sure was 4C’s nightmare right now. He didn’t much like standing on guard, aware that a second’s inattention could cause a potentially deadly accident. At least during the day, he would be able to decipher some darker shapes as they came closer. With the barely present moonlight? Nothing. Just faint grey swirls as the veil of water flowed around them.

“I can see why. Or well, can’t see.”

Scott gestured out to the formless grey, pulling a snicker from 4C. As he found his place amongst the crew, Scott got more comfortable. It was nice to hear him joke around.

“Maybe you need glasses then.”

4C teased lightly and Scott huffed, amused. 4C could picture him with some of those narrow glasses, curved beneath before coming to a point at the temples.

He had an appearance to suit any style, though. Any time he wore some of their clothes, they looked almost made for him despite their fit being a little off. If anything, it managed to look intentional. From Katie’s soft and candid outfits to Nom’s dark and dramatic ones, they all looked correct. Obviously, so did Mae’s earthy tones and practical clothes, which he still regularly wore. Only 4C couldn’t quite share any, given the size difference. Unfortunate.

“So what did you do before?”

Scott asked out of curiosity, which made sense considering what 4C had just said. Still, it caught him by surprise. He should have stayed quiet. 4C always dreaded when the subject got brought up, because it usually ended in one of two ways that he did not much enjoy.

“Oh. well um. I was, uh…”

4C didn’t want to lie to Scott, give him the usual excuse of working in a storehouse, running around carrying things for customers. Still, he didn’t want to give him the impression that all of them had regrettable pasts one way or another. Even though it was mostly true. He felt pinned down, as if Scott could see right through him. Even though Scott did nothing but patiently wait for an answer that should not have taken so long to say. 4C sighed deeply, the surface of his slime popping with faint bubbles.

“I lived in the Moonlit Swamps and I got involved with some stuff that I shouldn’t have. I was caught in a- Do you know what a Ring is?”

4C didn’t expect him to. Scott hadn’t ever been away from Barrowhill, he had told them, and a small farming town did not seem the most profitable spot for a Ring. They riddled the land like disease. Still, 4C doubted they could make much money there. 

“The- the jewellery?”

Or if there was one, Scott didn’t know of it. Gods be thanked. His hesitant question proved so, although he clearly could tell he was wrong. If he had heard of them before, the unfiltered cesspit they were, he would immediately have shown so.

“Well yes but not what I mean. It’s kind of a hidden combat arena? People go there to fight or watch people fight.”

4C couldn’t say much, refused to expose the reality of them to Scott. No mention of the ties to the filthy darkworld, the ramifications into places of power, the back alley deals, the torture, the agony. He would be disgusted by it, and by 4C in association. 4C didn’t want to lose his new friend.

“Oh.”

Scott pulled the cloak a little tighter around himself. 4C turned away to scan their surroundings again, unwilling to face Scott’s scrutiny. He already felt small enough. The humid air made his body looser, less responsive.

“Yeah. I got on the wrong side of a Ring head and I had to fight to clear my debt.”

The very wrong side. 4C had sticky fingers, both literally and figuratively, but he hadn’t been as experienced back then. If only he had a tiny bit more dexterity… Or even the common sense to not try stealing from someone who was obviously tangled up in a bad world, really. His life would have turned out much different.

“That’s- awful.”

Scott sounded more concerned than put off, at the very least. 4C forced his hands to lift slightly from the rungs, where his slime had begun sinking into the cracks of the wood. He would have to scrub it out with a brush when it dried.

“They made money off the bets so they had me run around first. Pretend like I was scared. Until they made enough against me and would signal me to end it.”

And then, 4C would strike his opponent in the back. They made him the main event every night, made up to be sneaky but pathetic. A poor soul somehow lucking out every time. Just his name attracted a crowd, eager to see who might finally take down the weak slime that acted surprised every time his blade drew blood.

“So they let you go when you had repaid it?”

Scott looked so hopeful when 4C glanced over. Like he had been himself when he had asked the first time. The first and only time. 4C had realised rather quickly that hope had no place in the underworld.

“It never quite got there. Interest adds up, you know?”

No matter how much they betted on 4C’s back, it never quite matched up. Every night, he racked up money. Every night, his owed sum climbed a little bit higher. Just close enough to taunt him, never sufficiently to make it. Out of 4C’s slimy reach.

“So- so how did you get out?”

There came the crux of the matter. 4C’s own past, he didn’t care about sharing. However from that point, it no longer involved only himself. His eyes slid across the deck to the light shining on the bow.

“Nom helped me.”

No more had to be said.

The last time 4C had let any additional information slip, it had ended rather badly. And wetly. He wouldn’t make the same mistake twice. He could only dilute his slime so many times before height became a considerable issue. After 4C managed to drag himself back onto the deck, behind Mae and Katie, Nom had sworn he would never do it again. 4C couldn’t wholeheartedly believe that. He didn’t have the best track record with promises, from what the others had said.

Let Scott believe what he wished, whether it be Nom buying 4C out, stealing him away at dusk, burning down the very Ring itself. Anything but the truth. Nom had stepped up as an opponent with his shirt unbuttoned and the overconfidence of keeping his glasses for a literal fist fight. What a contrast from 4C’s prostrate form under his cloak, tattered from people gripping at it. Nom burnt with unspent anger, seeking a thrill that 4C never understood. His strength, glaringly obvious from the moment the match had started, put him near the top of the list of the people 4C had fought. 

His lack of discipline caught him out, however. 4C slipped out of his grip repeatedly. He remembered it so clearly it might as well be drawn. Nom stood still, panting as he examined 4C in search of flaws. His eyes bored a hole right through the slime. 4C had never lost a fight but that glare, it could end him right there. The audience hollered and rattled their seats while they stared at each other, unfazed. Nom’s attention had gone to the dagger when 4C gripped it nervously.

The head, behind Nom, still hadn’t signalled for it to end. 

However, their standstill only made more coins clink, passed over the desk, notes scribbled into the ledger. At the nod, 4C lurched forward with intent to finish it off. Nom caught 4C at the waist, pressed between a bulging arm and a ribcage. Then, a murmur between gritted teeth, before 4C could bury his dagger in Nom’s leg.

‘You want to get away,’ he had said. Nom might not have been the first to see through 4C, but he sure had been the first one to care. ‘Get me. I’ll help.’ And he had. He fell when 4C pretended to stab him, only to shoulder his way through the crowd when they erupted with shouts. The commotion allowed 4C to dash out through another route. The head couldn’t see him through the mess. An hour later, 4C sailed away under cover of night.

He had never learnt how much the bets for their fight had made. He would wager it to be the highest grossing one of his Ring.

From the prolonged silence, Scott realised that 4C would not elaborate any further. His fingers tapped nervously along the shaft of his staff.

“I’ve been… working on my magic.”

Scott hazarded an attempt to change the subject. So that was what he did when he stayed in the sleeping quarters during the day. 4C assumed he must have been resting. Which he probably also did, to be fair. The medical checks may have lowered frequency to once a week, they still remained necessary.

“Yeah?”

Magic had given Scott a hard time in the past. He called it unpredictable, weak at best. 4C didn’t quite agree, with how it allowed them to have fresh fruits and vegetables in the middle of the ocean. They otherwise had to rely on preserved ones, whether that be canned, pickled or salted. Nothing that matched up to the crunch of a ripe carrot. Mae had quite the reaction when 4C didn’t even brush off the dirt.

4C did not look forward to their meals when Scott returned to Barrowhill.

“Do you want to see?”

4C nodded and Scott slipped off the crate, moving further back on the quarterdeck. A safe distance away, 4C keenly observed their blurred surroundings before watching Scott. He lifted the staff, tracing some kind of pattern in the air. 4C wasn't too up to date with how magic worked.

Something spread over the deck. Crawling vines? The light at 4C’s hip showed their sharp thorns when he stepped closer. He was not touching that. Instead, he looked back up to Scott who smiled bashfully at 4C’s praise. A wave of his staff dismissed the plants back to thin air.

“I also practiced my invisibility. I thought- Maybe if I’m better at it, it won’t happen by itself.”

The lantern flame swayed as a wave tilted the ship aside. With its flicker, Scott was gone. 4C raised his hands to clap but instead the staff fell right into his palm. It must have slipped from Scott's hands as he cast his spell.

Then came a faded cry.

“Scott?”

Followed by a splash. No answer, only thrashing.

“Scott!”

4C shouted. What echoed instead over the empty deck was a second quieter fall into the water. If he had any blood, it would have frozen in his veins. Instead, his… entire slime froze? Nom’s light, at the bow of the ship, stayed static on its side. 

No.

4C ran to the railing and leaned over it. He could barely make out a shape cutting through the water, leaving ghostly trails of foam behind. It headed back along the side of the boat. That couldn’t be Scott. He would have been behind the boat by now, swallowed up by the fog. It could only mean one thing. Nom had actually done it.

“Scott, where are you?”

4C rushed to find the floating cork ring Nom had stowed on the quarterdeck. A light rope wrapped around one side, whistling as 4C threw it as far as he could. The waters below them had too much depth to drop the anchor, and although the boat had little speed, it still moved faster than Nom swam. He wouldn’t be able to catch up

“I’m coming!”

4C’s hands hurt as the rope cut into them. A thin layer of slime covered the fibers as they dragged through. Maybe a lesson to wear his gloves more often. He didn’t care though, as the sudden stress powered him. When the end of the cord approached, he held it firmly, stopping the movement of the ring, and tied it to the ship's railing. He could only hope it reached far enough.

“Get off me, you fucking fish!”

The distant scream did nothing to reassure 4C, despite it proving that Nom hadn’t drowned. He felt so useless, forced to wait and listen as his best friend swam sightless in the ocean. And Scott, gods, Scott hadn’t said anything. Had he fallen under the surface? Did he even know how to swim? 

“Nom! Scott!”

4C called out into the fog, to no avail. He couldn’t hear anything from either of them anymore. No. No! He grabbed the railing and screeched with all the fear and pain in his chest. His legs melted beneath him, body softening into a puddle that spread over the wooden planks of the deck.

Gods, he couldn’t even do anything! Should he wake Mae and Katie? They would be just as helpless as him. He didn’t want to have to break the news to them that- that Nom and Scott-

4C sobbed.

A slimy feeling wrapped around his wrist. The touch reminded him of home, almost, but it didn’t smoosh into him as his family would. Opening his eyes, 4C followed the thick black ribbon that held him, over to the tied rope. It twisted around the link, emerging from the fog. 4C forced his legs to solidify and pushed up.

That was- seaweed.

“Scott! You got this, hold on!”

4C grabbed the rope and started to tug it back towards the ship. The seaweed coiled around the railing, aiding the motion. The damn line felt endless. No matter how much they pulled, more followed.

Right hand, left hand, right hand, left hand, again and again and again until finally-

A shape formed in the grey. Scott, one arm hooked into the ring, the other clutching a limp Nom. 4C cried and kept on going. The seaweed did the last part of the work, wrapping around both of them to lift them back to the deck. 4C pulled Nom over the railing, leaning him back against the pile of rope, barely quick enough to catch Scott as he crumbled.

“You’re okay, you’re fine, you did it-”

Scott looked haunted. 4C found a towel for him, wrapping him in it to replace Mae’s cloak. He put his own on Nom after pulling off the leather coat. It was probably ruined now.

“4C- thank you. You saved us.”

He could not agree, shaking his head.

“You saved you.”

The seaweed hadn’t completely slipped off the deck yet, slithering nearby like some restless pet. It still remained attached to the sea floor, seemingly, with how it slipped off the ship bit by bit. Scott reached for it and it crawled over to both his and Nom’s lap. The weight brought the captain back to himself, scrambling and panting.

“Let go of me-!”

Scott pulled the algae off. Nom’s wide panicked eyes glanced between the two of them, then to the cloak on his chest. He dropped his head back. He swallowed air gluttonously, unable to get enough. Like he was drowning. 

“This night sucks.”

The ragged voice wasn’t any better. Yeah, 4C could agree with that much. Now that he knew that both of them were safely back on board, he bounced back to hold the wheel again. The panic still prickled through his limbs, stress that he couldn’t shake off.

“Why would you jump in?”

Scott whispered behind him. It was cold without the cloak, he hadn’t taken it off in such a long time. He just wanted this nightmare to end. He needed a human-length sleep. 4C believed he deserved that much. 

“The fear for you won over the fear for me.”

Through the crash in energy that slowed his mind, 4C had a realisation. Nom hadn’t jumped in the water for him.

Of solitude.

After all this time, Mae would think she knew how to be alone. Having lost people, time and time again, her father, her friends, her mother, him, they had all left her. One by one. And it was nothing but wishful thinking than to hope she knew how to handle that.

When she came back to her house, no longer a home, it lay empty. When she sat at the table for dinner, those chairs stayed empty. When she laid in the moss to look at the stars, the space beside her remained empty. When she held out her hand, no one took it. Empty.

And yet, when Mae went for a walk, praying it might clear her head of all these thoughts, it simply could not empty. But her heart was.

Nothing she could do would ever be right, ever make it right. Mae just had to deal with all of it by herself now. And yet she couldn’t help but imagine how it would be to have someone by her side. Someone, anyone, to laugh and cry and dance with. Anyone who would finally stay.

Mae stood, unbothered by the tear tracks that glimmered in the moonlight. She would strain herself trying to wipe them every time they came. Alone as Mae was in the clearing, she began to dance. The long branches of weeping willows swayed in the wind, almost as if to join her.

Her boots barely thumped against the ground when she landed, footfall silent like a cat. Mae’s breath caught in her chest and she liked to pretend it was from the physical activity and not the quiet hiccups. In her head, they echoed as drums joining the playful song of a cruit. The six strings sang a harmony that sent her leaping around the space, her legs effortlessly elongated forward and back.

Mae spun with great delight, hair whipping the air as it fell out of its tie. She kept on, keeping to pace with the melody along which she hummed. Until finally, she drew her arms up to the sky, heaving from the exhaustion, and bowed to her celestial audience.

Soft applause came from beneath a willow. Mae froze as the wind blew the leaves away. A girl, much younger than Mae, had a stringed piece of wood and a bow tucked beneath her elbow.

“Such a pretty dance deserved music! I hope you didn’t mind!”

Even when Mae had thought she was alone, the world decided otherwise. She stared, astonished, at the sweet-looking girl. Maybe she could try just one more time.

“He’s- What?”

Half a year, Scott had been away from home. Over three months on that accursed ship, some two on the Hoard, a couple days’ travel by land.

“I’m sorry, Scott. I really am.”

He had been taken as spring creeped closer, only returning at the end of the warm season. The best period of year for the shop, where flowers bloomed and plants grew, drinking in that glorious light, rising in the warmed air of summer.

“No…”

Half a year had ripped Scott’s father away from the earthly plane. The brilliant sun overhead, which had warmed the bittersweet final day of their journey as a group, could not fight the cold washing over Scott. His body plunged into an ocean that he couldn’t swim in.

“He never stopped looking for you. He left me this to give to you, he found it in the forest. He knew you’d find your way back.”

Scott shakily cupped his palms together to receive the brooch. The familiar brass weighed in his hand, warmer than he remembered. Without needing to think about it, he pinned it over his heart as he always had done. His staff already laid on the ground. It had slipped from his grip at the news.

Scott had been looking forward all morning to showing it to his dad. He wanted to show how his magic had improved in such a short time, to prove that it wasn’t good for nothing. He had pictured it, dad’s embrace, telling him that he had grown so much from a little sprout, saying how proud he was. How proud mum would be too.

Scott would have pointed out the lilies of the valley along the length and the white lily atop, before introducing the person who had made it. In the carriage they had hired, Scott had told the crew stories about his dad. He shared precious memories that shouldn’t have been the last. He had wanted his father to meet the people who saved him.

Dad would have loved them.

“For what it’s worth, remember he’s with your mother now, looking over you. I’m sorry, son.”

Scott never felt more like a lost child, barely registering when the mayor left him to stand alone in front of his empty home. The flowers had withered inside, a layer of dust atop the shrivelled brown plants that nobody had touched. How long ago had it been since they were last watered? How long ago had Scott’s dad… died? Maybe the mayor had said it. Scott couldn’t remember.

A guttural scream tore itself from his throat as he collapsed to the ground. 

Falling. 

Scott was falling.

His fingers raked into the soft earth, growing wet from his sobs. His lungs struggled, constricted around breaths that refused to slip through. Coughs tore through his body. Everything spun. Everything hurt. He felt like throwing up. Maybe he did. Scott couldn’t do this alone. He didn’t know how to live on his own. 

The loss weighed upon his back, crushing him down over his thighs. But then, gentle hands crossed over his chest and took his. All strength left him. Only the hold prevented his face from smashing into the dirt. He wished they would have let him lay there and rot. Scott allowed himself to be rocked side to side as his world burned down around him.

No more mum.

No more dad.

No more flower shop.

What was Scott even meant to do now?

Voices washed over him as he bawled, no single word registering within his mind. The pairs of arms wrapped around him felt foreign, too loose. The hair that draped over him, too red, too curly. The hands, too small, too soft, too wrong.

The air burned his throat, choking on smouldering embers. His eyes became an endless well for hot tears, the flow a coursing river. Roots grew from his shins, his knees, his feet, tethering him to the ground beneath. Molten metal coursed through his veins. Scott melded into the earth, heart beating as one with nature and his body lit up with a fresh wave of pain.

Scott was ten years younger and hiding in a cupboard.

Scott was half a year younger and stuck in a wooden room.

Scott was ten minutes younger and trapped in hell.

He wanted his mum and dad. He wanted to be held so tightly it hurt to breathe. He wanted it all to stop. More than anything else. He should have died there, on that boat, in that water, anywhere that wouldn’t have led him to this agonizing pain. 

Scott wished he could have said so much more. This was the second time his parent had been brutally ripped away before Scott told them how much he loved them, how thankful he was to be raised by them, how he would find them in every mundane activity. But Scott hadn’t been able to convey any of that. Not even the opportunity to say goodbye.

Dad’s face flashed behind his eyelids every time he blinked. In the jumble of thoughts, he still stood by his workbench. Leaves littered the floor, already stripped from the flower stems. A few more bouquets to finish preparing while Scott got started on dinner. If only he hadn’t wanted some mushrooms to go with the salted squash…

Scott wanted to look at the oiled desk in the greenhouse again. Maybe its emptiness would knock the sight out of his mind, that figment of his dad clawing at his heart. He forced his body to crack its shell.

A dome of holly had sprung from below, branches twisted into braids that trapped Katie and Mae inside with him. It was barely high enough for Scott to sit back on his heels, the points brushing at his scalp and swaying in front of his eyes. His thorns had seemingly taken a new form instead of spreading along the ground. He didn’t know he could do that.

“Let me cut you out-”

Metal hissed, for only a second. Outside the protection of Scott’s accidental spell cast, 4C stopped Nom’s arm from unsheathing the blade at his hip. Scott had never seen him wear the heavy sword on the ship, but he had deemed it safer to take it along for land travel.

“No, you could hurt them, it’s too close. I’ll get in and make way from inside.”

Scott shook his head without speaking. 4C might have been able to squeeze through without getting pricked, but his dagger would do nothing. Mae and Katie crammed closer together to avoid the threatening sides. Scott raised a hand to the wood, uncaring of the bloody scratches etched into his skin by the sharp leaves. The air hung heavy and still. Everyone watched helplessly as nothing happened. 

“Please.”

Scott murmured, voice broken over the simple word. This was all he had left. If his magic couldn’t even do the one thing he was meant to have control over, then what good was it? All it had done was steal him away from his father, forced their last conversation to be about what to have for dinner. 

Rotten magic! Gods be damned for this curse they had inflicted upon Scott. His fingers found the metal of his staff and brought it close to his chest. He wailed again, his head tilted up towards the covered sky. A few of the leaves remained stuck in his hair. Their points drew blood. Streaks of glimmering orange melded within the white gold strands as the branches untangled. A ray of sun fell upon his face. He closed his eyes to the warmth. Waterfalls that wouldn’t tarry glimmered on his cheeks.

In such nice weather, Scott would have spent his entire day outside. Hands covered in dirt as he pulled out weeds, pruned flowering bushes, watered garden beds. When the work was done, he would lay down between the lavender and hydrangeas, rays of light dappled between the swaying stems. His father would eventually come sit by him with a peppermint infusion for the two of them. Further back in his memories, a child Scott would have laid on his mother’s lap. 

The sky was a brilliant blue like this day, entirely cloudless, when she had taught Scott how to braid hair. Every time a white blond lock fell in front of Scott’s eyes, he thought about her. He really took after her, everyone said. He could hardly remember her face anymore.

If not for the messy sketch of her, done by his father’s uncertain but loving hands, Scott might not have a memory at all. It rested on the fireplace in the main room, across from the couch. 

So that they could still sit together as a family.

When Scott finally found the strength to stand, his hands clamped around his staff to push against the dirt. His feet dragged forth towards the house. One step, two steps.

A treacherous root pulled his shoe and he tumbled forward. He didn’t even try to catch himself this time, accepting that fate would not allow him peace again. His destiny was to lay broken, a blanket of moss growing over him like the logs in the forest. Return to nature and find peace in it.

What caught Scott, rather than rocks and brambles, was a strong trunk with two wide branches. They tightened around Scott who only sank into the soft layer of black and red lichens. He couldn’t move anymore, restricted in this unrelenting hold. Rough bark grazed against his cheek and tilted his head back. Leaves, a dark brown that mirrored the death of Scott’s soul, fluttered in the wind. The tree creaked as it grew towards the sky, carrying Scott up with it. 

Yes, give his body to the woods. Spare his neighbours the work over digging another grave.

As he relinquished himself, Scott had an apologetic thought for the crew that had spent weeks nursing him back to health. What an unfortunate waste of resources. He wished he could have spared them the heartache.

“I’m so sorry, Scott.”

The trunk rumbled against his chest. Scott blinked the blurriness from his vision. His face stared right back, reflected in a thin layer of glass. A coppered swollen face, translucent hair stuck to shiny tracks of tears, snot, and drool that he didn’t bother wiping off. Past the glass, a pair of eyes, the rich brown of soil after the rain. Not an oak, but a man. On Scott’s jaw, a hand with thick calloused patches.

The forest hadn’t tried to take Scott. Didn’t want to. Of course.

Scott dropped his head again as the grip adjusted to keep him from slipping. Now secured, he barely swayed at every step. The door swung on its hinges, unlocked. Scott let his eyes unfocus, staring but unseeing. The shapes melted together until he could no longer avoid them.

He had observed it for too many hours, in all lighting conditions. During sickness, rest, sleepless nights, contemplation. Scott didn’t think he ever would forget the ceiling above the bed where he had slept without fail for twenty years. His hands flattened against linen sheets, softened by all the times they had been washed. A breeze of floral tea slipped by, so faint yet familiar. The camellia by his window had been in bloom the last time he had seen it. It wouldn’t be now. Yet, a guide to a dreamless sleep, its ghost remained.

Scott Springwell had never of his own will left Barrowhill. Yet, there came a first time for everything. 

Allura Springwell rested at the top of a small hill, overlooking Barrowhill and the forest beyond. With no one to clean it, moss had grown over the gravestone, softening the speckled grey edges. At least she had a neighbour now. Darius Springwell’s tomb only had a tiny bit of green on it. So far.

“Mum, dad. These are my friends.”

The group stood a few paces behind Scott. Familiar enough with standing in front of a grave, Mae gave a curtsy. A little more unsure, 4C’s face pulled into a tight smile. Katie waved, the flute she had brought along clutched anxiously in her other hand. Nom bowed his head politely. 

Several days had passed since their arrival in Barrowhill. Despite Scott’s house being right there, the six of them got rooms at the small local inn. There was not enough space for all of them to stay as no one wanted to sleep in his parents’ bed. Scott’s dead parents’ bed. He couldn’t blame them, really. Even with the need to be close to them, Scott didn’t trust himself to stay alone in the house. Out of fear of what he might do or pain from the memories, he couldn’t say. 

Scott had needed three days to finally work up the strength to visit their graves. It probably would have taken much longer if not for them being with him. For the climb, if nothing else. His legs had threatened to give out multiple times.

“It’s an honour to meet you both. You raised a great son.”

Scott hadn’t heard Mae sound so solemn before. It was bittersweet, in a way. He never had proper friends, so to speak. No one to bring over to his house. Just when he managed to make some, but a cruel twist of fate, his dad passed before he could introduce them. His fingers pressed against the length of his staff, white at the knuckles. Still, he recounted the tale of what had happened to him.

The bad memories made Scott shiver as they flooded his brain. He didn’t go into detail. To be quite honest, most of it had left his head already. Either he repressed those one hundred and thirteen lines, or his body had been in such a state that it could no longer register things. 

Scott continued, much more happily, to the time spent on the Dragon’s Hoard. As he told the story, the others started to interject with their own little additions. Things that Scott hadn’t noticed or quips that would amuse him again. He couldn’t quite find it in himself to laugh, but the weight lifted from his shoulders slightly more each time. Eventually, the story joined up with their arrival to Barrowhill and Scott stopped himself there. His throat tightened as reality hit him again. He turned his head over his shoulder, not moving his feet. They would not hold his weight if he did.

“Thank you for- coming to meet my parents.”

Scott’s tone held an implicit dismissal that 4C picked up on immediately. He stepped closer, just enough to embrace Scott with one arm.

“Thank you for letting us be here.”

4C whispered before he moved back, leaving his place to Katie. She pulled him in with more strength and her face pressed into Scott’s spine. She mumbled something he didn’t catch. He hummed anyway. Mae then came around to stand before him. She wiped at his tears with gentle thumbs, smiling despite her own wet cheeks.

“You’re really strong, Scott. Never forget that, even when it gets hard. Even when it- it really really sucks and it doesn’t feel like it, you’re still strong.”

Her voice wavered. Scott lifted his hands to mimic her movement, patting her eyes dry. 

“You too, Mae. You showed me so.”

Mae choked out a strained laugh, and he did too. They looked into each other’s eyes for a minute, silently. It seemed to calm her down. Mae smiled, one more time, before letting go.

The crew turned to look at Nom, whose gaze shot away immediately. He crossed his arms, tapped his foot, and Katie huffed. She didn’t say anything but pressed Scott’s hand one last time before taking to the path that slithered down the hill. As Mae and 4C followed, a gentle melody rose, carried off by the wind. It quietened, even stopped once when Katie tripped, and eventually faded.

“Scott?”

Nom spoke up hesitantly, only receiving a hum as an answer. Scott didn’t trust his voice to hold, or even come out at all. Nom mulled over his words, maybe for the first time in his life. He eventually continued, with lack of his usual bravado.

“I’ll be over there if you need- anything.”

To make sure Scott wouldn’t collapse and just lay there again. Tempting, honestly.

But no.

Instead, Scott sat in silence between the graves. His head felt empty, completely drained after how much he had endured. No thought seemed to want to present itself. Only distant memories that blurred together into a grey plane with how many came at once. A sublime devastating mess that refused to take hold. Each time one event tried to pry itself out of the pack, another washed over it, sending Scott in a whirlpool of unending images that he couldn’t latch on.

Scott therefore stopped trying to catch anything and let the waves wash over him. He watched as the sky painted itself in great strokes of oranges, pinks and purples. A stunning gradient over the treeline, cut out by two silhouettes of stone and one of a boy who had been through so much. Birds punctuated the landscape, swirling around endlessly as a flock.

Scott envied their freedom.

What would it be like, to go as he pleased? Speed away until the air whistled, unbothered by land restrictions? Sail off to a brand new place, somewhere mysterious and unexpected, where he had everything left to discover?

Sail?

Sail. Scott could sail.

Just a little further ahead, the wind played with hair the colour of soil soaked with tears. Scott flattened his feet to the ground to stand. He held the staff in both hands, its end planted down firmly, and called upon his magic. Grasses shivered around him as long stems rose in their midst. Leaves extended aside. Buds grew from elongated spheres to narrow points. The petals parted in a shiver and curled back to reveal their delicate insides. The white lilies cradled Scott and his parents in a crescent. He took a long breath to fill his lungs with their soft powdery scent.

“Nom?”

Scott called out with a gentle voice, afraid it would break. Immediately Nom jumped to his feet. He hopped over the rock where he had been sitting. A hand on his sword, he glanced around for potential danger before finally raising his eyes. Scott’s lashes, still wet, clumped together into spikes that drew fuzzy rainbow circles in his vision.

“Woah, that’s new. It looks- really nice, Scott.”

Nom took in the new arrangement. He approached with high steps, feet careful just in case he stepped on a hidden flower. Scott could only stare straight at his face. The sun neared the horizon perfectly to cast a golden halo around Nom’s head.

“Nom… Can I stay?”

An eclipse that only Scott got to witness.

“Stay? The plan was always to bring you back to Barrowhill.”

Eyes shadowed to an ocean with no reflection, glasses dimmed in the fog, sails of hair snapped, strong hands a safe hull, voice the crash of waves.

“What if the plan changed?”

Nominal, a guiding star.

“I don’t think I get it.”

An oak with ivy crawling along its thick trunk Nom. A waterlily floating atop a lake of muddy water Nom. Seaweed rooted to the ocean floor reaching for the light of the surface Nom.

Scott had spent the past two days inside his house. As soon as he woke up, he walked blankly down the paths. He spared no thought for navigation. The footfalls remained anchored in his mind. He could feel the heads turning when he walked past windows and shops. The exclamations of surprise at his return, the stares heavy with pity, the hesitance of an approach, one step, maybe two forwards, before they caught the emptiness in his eyes.

Scott took a deep shuddery breath to steel himself.

“I meant- can I- stay with you? There’s nothing left for me here.”

The crew came along with him, always one of them by his side, even as he sat there staring ahead all day. The view from the windows, the foliage he had seen through all seasons, made his heart hurt. Mae had read to him one of her books, her voice a steady rock to rest against. The layers of dust accumulated around the house got kicked out by Katie and 4C. A fierce battle had left the slime fuzzy for several hours then opaque for the rest of the day. Once the open windows had removed the remnants from the air, Scott moved into the main room and listened to Katie’s cruit.

“Scott…”

Nom whispered, but Scott was back inside again. He stared at phantoms, two people embracing in the kitchen, a slow sway to the rhythm of fire crackles. He peeked around the doorway, eyes barely level with their middles back then. 

The previous day, Scott had spent in the greenhouse. The dusty scent of mold had faded pretty rapidly, or maybe he simply got used to it. Most plants had simply withered into stiff brown skeletons of their past glory. A few had properly rotten, covered in a thin blueish layer. Scott’s magic had been entirely ineffective in doing, well, anything. As usual.

“It’s the truth. I loved Barrowhill because my family was there and now, they’re no longer-”

Nom had come with him, sitting on the tile to leave Scott the more comfortable woven bench. Dice clicked and clacked on the clay. Scott watched them roll, counting the dots in his head, until he finally went to sit across from Nom. Without a word, he had taken the cubes and engaged in a game. Scott won. Nom had gone easy on him. He must have. Surely.

“If I stay here, by myself- I think I’ll die.”

In the six months Scott had been away, Barrowhill hadn’t changed in the slightest, constant, everlasting. And yet, everything felt different, like it had slipped through a mirror and inverted the whole place. No, the town hadn’t changed. Scott had.

The air that he had breathed his entire life through now felt foreign in his lungs. Icky, thick, clinging to his throat. Scott’s very own house brought bile to his tongue, haunted by shadowy figures at every corner, every sliver of a room he saw.

“You- you wouldn’t. You’re strong.”

Defiant, Nom shook his head. A lot more intentionally than how Scott’s hands shook around his staff. He could feel his pulse in the tip of his ears, the thin skin between his collarbones, his right thumb and also his knees. Or maybe those just knocked into each other at the very same time as his pulse.

“I can’t stay here, Nom. Not on my own. My parents- they’ll always be with me. No matter where that is. I can’t cause my own pain, I can’t disappoint them. My life will be long and miserable enough as is.”

He laughed wetly, in disbelief at his own words. Nom could only stare, baffled. The scar that spanned from the side of his nose down past his lip stretched with his open mouthed incredulity. At a loss for words, once in a blue moon. The sun had lowered behind him, teetering on the edge of the horizon, a blood red circle. Well, human blood. Not Scott’s.

Scott shuffled on his feet. He shouldn’t have asked, shouldn’t have said anything, should have just let them walk away. Wish them safe travels and calm seas. He tried to hide the agitation but the telltale fluttering of his ears gave him away. Nom’s eyes shot to them the second they started beating, words suddenly spilling like water from a tipped bucket.

“Of course you can stay with us, Scott. For however long you want, you’re welcome on the Hoard.”

Nom reached out a hand. Scott took it. For the first time in half a year, after the rock of a boat, the starvation, the loss of muscle, the being pushed into the ocean, the illness, the weakness, the relearning how to control his own body… Scott walked forward without fear of falling. He knew he would be caught. 

Scott discovered that Nom ran a lot hotter than him. The skin of his hand almost burned like the bright sun they now both faced. It cast its last rays, close to completely plunging itself beneath the treeline. Calluses pressed against Scott’s palm when he threaded their fingers together. The rough hand settled into his almost too familiarly. Nom’s entire arm radiated warmth as he came a step closer, grip tightening.

“Do you want to take anything?”

Nom asked, only once the star had laid itself to sleep. He looked different now that the bright orange light had given way to softer blues. Gentler. Younger. Even the feathered scars on his face could no longer make him intimidating. Scott’s own scars had smooth surfaces that tried to slip out of the way at touch, but Nom’s buckled unevenly. Scott wondered what they might feel like under his thumb.

Scott thought back to his house and the fully windowed room. His parents may be buried atop a hill, however that greenhouse was where Scott had put his dreams to rest.

“The flowers are all already dead but they’re not meant for the sea anyways…”

Still, the loss staked him in the heart. The thought of leaving everything he had ever known behind, it hurt. Scott couldn’t fathom it. He knew he needed to go yet he couldn’t just abandon it all. He sniffled. He hadn’t even noticed the thin trail of tears start running in the wake of so many others.

“Just a few lily bulbs. For them.”

Scott looked over his shoulder at the crescent holding his parents. Nom’s fingers tightened around the large hand within for a firm but brief moment. Scott replicated the motion.

“As many as you want. You can fill the deck with them.”

Scott pictured it. The ship transformed into a meadow, a sea of flowers swaying peacefully with each passing wave. A medley of colours, of shapes, and that faint powdery smell overlaid with the sweetness of more fragrant varieties. White lilies, rising above all others, pale and pure and home.

“We’ll go find new ones everywhere we go.”

Nom insisted and Scott tipped his head up in an attempt to blink back the tears. He soon gave up, realising they would not go. He would just keep them there, even with the gentle breeze that cooled his wet skin. With a turn to face him fully, Scott slipped his hand out of Nom’s. His fingers ghosted over the white scar but fled away before contact. Not today. Not yet, anyways, even though Nom would have let him. Instead, Scott pulled the glasses off his nose carefully. The lenses were cleaner than usual, no salt crystals, although a couple prints still betrayed clumsy attempts at pushing them up.

“Well I just can’t see now.”

Nom huffed, lips pulled aside in amusement. Even with a blurry vision, he could still focus all of his attention right on Scott. The stare, no longer obscured behind a metal rim and panels of glass, pinned Scott in place. How strange what glasses could do. It made him almost unrecognisable, neither worse nor better. Simply a new version of Nom that Scott would get to know. 

But later.

He couldn’t take the intensity of those eyes any longer. Scott tried to put the glasses back on without stabbing Nom which proved difficult. One branch went into his ear rather than on top, the other pressed into his temple. Nom laughed and took them to place them correctly. The unexplained antics didn’t bother him. Mae, Katie and 4C had accustomed him to it, Scott supposed.

“I’ll let you have your bed back, at least.”

Impish, Nom grinned wider while Scott began heading back for the town, where lights already illuminated windows. In a few hops, he caught up and they walked side by side. Their hands bumped into one another, pulling a cut-off hiss from Nom at the hardness of Scott’s bony knuckles. To prevent it happening all the way down, Nom laced their fingers again. No complaints from Scott.

“Or we could share?”

Admittedly, it would be easier than setting up one of the previous sleeping quarters again. They had been converted to storage, as there were more than enough individual rooms for all of them to have their own. Scott had seen a spare mattress somewhere, though, and he didn’t really need anything else in there. In fact, they wouldn’t have to move everything, just clear out enough of a space for Scott to sleep. Yes, that was actually simpler than Nom’s idea. Not to mention its major flaw. 

“But we sleep at the same time?”

Mostly. Scott did tend to wake earlier than Nom. One or both of them would have to majorly shift their sleep schedule in order to share the bed. Which also meant there would be less time when both of them would be awake. Scott pursed his lips, unconvinced. The disgruntled expression pulled a loud laugh from Nom.

“Not share like 4C and I did.”

Scott paused in his tracks, halfway down the hill. Nom stopped barely a step further. He watched Scott attentively, almost like he waited for Scott to realise what he meant. But what did he mean, in fact? How could two people share a bed without… alternating… The bloodrush came immediately as Scott’s gaze caught on his house, thinking of his room as opposed to his parents’ room. 

“You- oh. I see. That- would be nice.”

His entire face felt hot, as if Nom had planted his furnace-like hands right onto it. Which he wouldn’t have pulled back from, only to fight off the air chilled from the loss of sunlight. His ears flicked some hair back, starlight strands slipping past his eyes.

“You might need to move some pillows out though…”

Scott added in an attempt to deflect the unwavering scrutiny. Although he didn’t quite have it in him to look over, Nom’s voice betrayed the cheeky grin plastered on his face.

“Anything for you.”

As he started walking again, Scott tugged at Nom’s hand, more tightly held. Nom fell in step with him and they descended the rest of the way without further talking. Scott couldn’t handle anymore today. The storm of emotions since they had arrived in Barrowhill had already jostled him around too much. 

A little too much to ask, with how Katie spun Scott around when he announced he would be going back with them. Until she tripped and sent both of them off balance. 4C pulled them aside just in time so they fell atop him rather than the floor. Dizzy, Scott laid there for a moment, attempting to figure out which way all his limbs had gone. Careful hands straightened him out to sit properly onto the couch.

“Are you sure?”

Mae’s hair fell around her face where tight curls had slipped from the gathered bun. A frown tightened her features, her grip on Scott’s shoulders like she wanted to shake him back to reason. Not that she would ever, Scott knew. If anything, her concern seemed protective. Maybe she thought Scott had been forced in some way. He smiled without meaning to.

“I didn’t get to visit your crow’s nest yet.”

Scott jolted when Mae suddenly threw her arms around his neck. He brushed past it rapidly in favour of reciprocating the embrace. 4C awwed softly beside them, only to find himself also dragged in. In an instant, Scott found himself in the middle of a group hug. Bodies pressed against his front and back, two on the side. Katie held Nom in place only loosely, not her usual full-force hold. Scott smiled to himself against Mae’s shoulder.

They stayed for another day for Scott to gather the few personal effects he wished to bring along. He cried again, several times, when specific objects dredged forgotten memories up from the depths of his mind. 

A cooking pan that a 7-year old Scott had once attempted to make before his mother woke up. She found him scrubbing the bottom within an inch of its life after coating it in coal.

The clumsy embroidery on a pillow that rested face down on his bed, some of his earlier work. It had been practice for his dad’s gift, which admittedly had not turned out much better than the first attempts. 

The shredded remnants of a blue cape, its weight so familiar on his shoulders, had been placed in a glass box on his dad’s bedside table. It had been ripped off him, that day.

Just a few moments out of dawn, they piled into a carriage, still yawning and bleary-eyed. Katie curled up in the corner across from Scott, head leant against the wall. She cradled her instruments to her chest. Nom tried to pull Katie’s feet off the wide seat when he climbed next to her, but she retaliated by putting them on his legs instead. He rolled his eyes. He didn’t remove them though.

“So captain, what’s the plan now?”

4C, well aware of the long day ahead on account of having done the journey to Barrowhill already, reigned his energy in. It remained abundantly clear that he was the only one of them who had slept enough. He might even have stayed up most of the night, for all Scott knew. He envied slimes in that sense. 

Nom lifted his hand to knock on the wood by his head, indicating to the conductor that they could head off now. The carriage tipped aside with the rocks on the path, reminiscent of the rocking of waves. If they were a lot more bumpy. It forced Mae to readjust her position, draped as she was against Scott. Her head rested on his shoulder, her cloak bundled up as a makeshift pillow.

“Before getting back to the Hoard, we make a stop in Blue Kingdom. There’s someone there I think Scott would like to meet.”

Scott Springwell had left Barrowhill once of his own will, and he would never return.