Although Burkswallow had certainly noticed that the oceans were curiously quiet, it hadn’t put his fears to rest: No thief made his living by underestimating his enemies. 
And if they tried, [i]living[/i] would quickly stop being the correct term. 
Despite their smooth sailing, the Breton was still silently plagued by concerns: He spent much of the first day’s voyage pondering whether sending a letter to Zaveed would do any good- he’d found that the couriers of Tamriel were a persistent bunch, come rain, sleet, snow or dragon fire- but had decided against it, partially because it seemed unlikely that the parchment would ever reach him, and partially because Harding’s crew seemed like the sort of people who would take his being literate as an admittance of him actually being a woman, who liked to wear pink and sing soprano.
[i]”They’re just jealous of how pretty you are,”[/i] Sweeps had taunted him, upon him voicing this concern, [i]”It’s not your fault they don’t look half as good in a dress.”[/i]

Still, despite his worries, he let no fret grace his features: In an odd turn of events, in fact, Burkswallow found himself quite comfortable upon the sea. 
When aboard [i]The Sea Wisp[/i], he’d been adamant in remaining unseen at all times- like hell [i]he[/i] was going to cover deck-scrubbing duty- but for whatever reason, this journey seemed different. 
Instead, he took quite well to the brine, and found himself lingering up on the top deck often, seemingly without need for his “marine guerrilla tactics.”
He supposed the sea air soothed an anxiety he hadn’t had during his previous ocean-escapades: Perhaps those crusty old mariners who haunted Skyrim’s ports were right when they suggested there was a medicinal quality to it. 

When they docked, however, that effect quickly retreated: They hadn’t arrived to peace, but instead to chaos.
“I thought things were going too well, alright,” Burkswallow announced, as Harding issued Rolf his orders, “You know, it’s uncanny, my vacations [i]always[/i] end with riots.”
Then she turned to him, and- almost instinctively- he drew the glass blade Zaveed had issued him.
[i]”… At least with me, you lot won’t be killed by mistake.”[/i]
That almost brought a smile to his face.
“Harding, I’ve had castles and sewers dropped on me since this journey began. I’m shockingly easy to [i]maim[/i],” he raised his blade, pre-emptively, “But damned hard to kill. Seems to be the way the wind is blowing.”
He threw a fleeting glance over to the battle, before returning to her. 
He nodded, “But you’re right. Lead the way, Captain. I’m right behind you, doing the most important job: Beautifying the party.”