Berlin gave a low chuckle, eyes gleaming. “Aye, I’d imagine I’m not the first. Not the last either.” He was now fully slouching, hands splayed loosely on the barrel used as a table, and his eyes were no longer quite as sharp. It took half a bottle of rum, but he was finally proper drunk, and was now sucking on the lime again as he spoke. “But I got a lotta years left in me before I might get the itch to wander ashore. This ship here is my home. I ain’t got a home anywhere else. And I sure as hell ain’t goin’ back to Cavastan.” Cavastan was a rather large port city in the far north of the country of Daegis, which was known for both having excellent whaling waters and miserably cold weather year-round. Every whaler worth his salt had spent time in Cavastan, or somewhere near it, and it was sung about in many songs as being awful but profitable. It was also where Berlin grew up and got his start sailing.

Berlin’s face turned to a scowl, the same sort of stern look he’d just given Hana for being called a gentleman, though Pieter knew him well enough to recognize it as grimly thoughtful. He leaned back (a little clumsily) to crane his head upward and search the dark night sky for any sign of the young shifter boy, but doing so was hopeless. The lad would be gone for hours and ranged very far from the ship. Even if it was daylight, he would not see him. “No,” he said almost darkly. “Rheoaan will never be free. Out here, yes, or in the quiet of the wilderness. But he will never have the freedom that Uban or you have in society. He’ll never be able to buy or sell goods, and I’d be shocked if any human lass would have him. And even if she did, it’s not like they could have children. And something tells me that even if he ever did find his way home, he could never again be content with a stationary life. He’s as much a slave to this life as your many brats are to theirs, even if he won’t admit it. But....” he leaned back, taking another sip from the mug that he realized was never empty, as if he had never noticed Pieter filling it at a certain point and assumed it kept filling itself magically. He smiled then, a warm grin with that equally inviting look in his eyes that was so typical of him. “I suppose if you’re going to be a slave to any life, this is as good as it gets.”

Berlin thought for a moment, then lifted his mug a little waveringly and toasted with a small laugh, “to freedom.” For that was what he loved most about pirating and the sea. He was free. Free to go as he wished, to take or not take what he wanted, and he was the master of his own destiny. He never had to adhere to polite society, never had to dress a certain way, speak a certain way, and never had to apologize to anyone for being as drunk as he was now.

Hana nodded, saying, "Yes, I have razor and powder in my pocket. Can we sit over there? The bowl is getting to be a little heavy."

Setting the bowl onto a barrel, Hana took the supplies from her pocket and laid them out as she spoke, "All adepts- those who haven't mastered magic- are meant to keep their head shorn. It's meant to be a sign of humility- that by giving up on worldly appearances, they can more honestly pursue knowledge. It's another way to tell mages apart, since masters can grow their hair long and wear it however they like." She paused. The bowl, the mug with soap and brush, and the razor with the horn handle were laid out.

The water was still cold, though. Normally, she'd had to have boiled water previously, and mixed the hot and cold together until she found a temperature that was suitable for her. Instead, she ran a finger along the lip of the bowl, muttering briefly. A chill settled on Hana and Uban's neck, and steam began to rise from the bowl.

Sitting cross legged on the ground so Uban could reach her head, she continued, "I doubt I'll ever become a master, but so long as I call myself a mage, I'll continue to shave."

--

Pieter chuckled low at the mention of Cavastan. "Aw hell, lad. Ain't nothing in Cavastan to steal except pine trees and blubber. And I've no interest in stealing the blubber!" He barked a short laugh, thinking about the awful stench.
The captain scowled thoughtfully, and Pieter sat, letting him find what he wanted to say. Pieter listened to the Borealis instead. She rocked steadily with the waves, and the creaking of her timbers were relaxed sighs, telling him all was well. "To freedom."
Pieter raised his mug, tapping it against Berlins. He drank, and drained his mug.
"I'll celebrate that every night."

The two men drank then in amiable silence, Berlin letting the sounds of the sea and of his ship wash over him like a soothing lulaby. He did love the Borealis, and as always, he loved the sea. He tilted his head back to glance up at what little of his figurehead he could see--a beautiful carving of a depiction of the Lady Tevira, the very spirit of the sea who sometimes took the form of a mermaid and had been rumored to both pull sailors down to the depths or to guide them home--depending on her fickle mood. A little smile touched his lips as he lounged back, letting his eyes shut contentedly.

---

Uban nodded, taking the bowl of water from her and setting it down as he got the tools and himself ready for his task as Hana sat down. "You got powder, eh? Well aren't you fancy!" He gave a little chuckle. "It's been a while since I had any powder. Got good at doing it with just a bit of water or sometimes a bit of regular soap, myself, but there ain't no denying the luxury of good powder." He listened to her explain about the cultural significance of shorn hair amongst mages, and he tried to think back to every bald person he ever encountered and wondered if secretly they were mages. Likely not, as they dressed usually like pirates or, if they were from Oak Hill, the blacksmith. In a little tiny bowl, he mixed a bit of the water with the shaving powder and whisked it up with the horsehair brush until it frothed into a sort of light paste.

Uban placed one gentle hand on her scalp to direct her head as he applied the frothy powder with the brush; she could feel the distinct lack of a finger on his left hand as he did so. And though his skin was rough and calloused due to a life of ropes and daggers, and an even longer life of farming tools and tack, his hands themselves were gentle, even as he began carefully scraping the blade of the razor in ordered lines down her skull. He wasn't kidding, he was quite good at it and never once nicked her, yet still managed a close shave.

He rinsed the blade in the bowl of water and started the next little section. "So you aren't fully trained? Didn't finish school or something?" his tone was only inquisitive, not judgmental. He'd never had any schooling in his life and it was only under Berlin's tutelage that he learned how to read at all, though he picked it up far easier than Rohaan ever did, who was unused to the idea of a written language at all. "Elbar's a long way from Yonin, and you never struck me as the Telor type. It's a port city full of...well, pirates and ingrates like myself." He laughed. "What brought you out there anyhow? Berlin never said."

--

After sailing in the direction Rohaan specified, they at last sighted a break in the reflection of the moonlight on the waves that signaled land. Sure enough, the island was little more than a very large sandbar with some tropical flora making up the entirety of the land. The moment the ship was moored in the sand, Berlin (who was holding it together quite well but still swayed when he stood or walked) released the crew to either sleep in their usual quarters or to go ashore if they wished and sleep by a fire, an option Rohaan took almost immediately. The boy loved the ship, but he also loved the warmth of a good fire.

Rohaan had been sleepy on the remainder of the trip to the island and had dozed off twice where he sat after his long flight, but the moment they were ashore he caught a second wind and a wicked, gleeful glint was in his lapis eyes. "Ca-mm, can I go hunting?"
Tiredly, Berlin rubbed his face and nodded. "Aye, boy. Do what you like as long as you stay near the island." He did not lecture Rohaan about getting to bed, nor did he worry about him wandering alone. Berlin knew he was perfectly capable of handling himself and there wasn't much trouble he could get into in a place like this. Besides, he had learned long ago that trying to force Rohaan to settle down was a hopeless cause without his calming ability once the boy was stirred. Besides, if he caught something good, they could have some fresh meat and even get some hide out of the deal, too. Rohaan would sleep when he was good and ready, and when he did crash, he did so quite fast. If he had extra energy to burn, it was best to let him get it out.

"Light a fire for me first 'fore you go, Rheoaan. I don't feel like toiling over some flint at the moment."
"Aye, Ca-mm!" Rohaan shifted to a dog, and, tail wagging, he dashed off to collect wood. When he had a sufficient pile, he shifted to a Cyradan and with a little intake of breath sent a tiny liquid jet of fire to the dry timbers and the pile blazed instantly. And then, launching into the sky, he melted into the shadows in his silent, swift form. He was not heard again after his initial wingbeats grew too distant and soft, until a bit later a small excited cry was heard from the other side of the little island and a flash of dim red lights could be seen shooting down from the sky to capture what had to be his prey.

Rohaan was a very good hunter. All vokurians were, due to their ability to become apex predators. But Rohaan was especially good at night. His favorite form, his Khiv'estanye or literally translated, 'true alternate' was a nocturnal creature of aerial stealth. Quick, silent, sharp-eyed and camouflaged. It made him a deadly foe in daylight, but a phantom at night. He returned not long after with a boar in his dark talons and dark crimson glinting off his black teeth in the firelight. The bioluminescent red stripes along his body were pulsing softly and despite his intimidating shape, he had the air of a proud bird-dog bringing back a prized goose.
"Nice catch, Rohaan," Uban said, patting the scaled creature on the shoulder like it was no less common or dangerous than a placid horse. "I'll dress and butcher it tomorrow and we'll have us something like proper bacon for breakfast, eh?"
Rohaan shifted back, looking more exhausted than ever but no less pleased. He had blood on his face and on his hands and Uban, not a stranger to this sight, still cringed and turned him towards the lapping waves. "Eesh, go wash lad."
"What? Don't like bloooood?" Rohaan grinned, his now white teeth stained red.
"Ain't that. It's just that its chilling enough to see a man with blood on his face, much less a ten-year-old."

Rohaan did wash, and then, after fetching a blanket from the Nest, came and settled down by the raging fire he'd created. He was asleep almost instantly.

Even though the habit of drinking and talking late into the night with Berlin had reached the point of tradition between the two of them, Pieter still marveled as he drifted off in his cot at how he'd made it this far. It was the same childlike disbelief he'd felt when he saw his first miracle.

---

Hanabaptiste breathed as Uban removed the gentle pressure from the back of her head. She hadn't realized she had been holding it in. She stilled again as he reapplied the razor, and Hana could almost feel the ghostly touch of the missing finger. "So you aren't fully trained? Didn't finish school or something?" Hana stiffened, and pressed her hands against her legs. Despite the change, his hands never wavered. He had never denied his past, or hid who he was. A breeze rippled across the sails, leaving behind a trail of snapping. The murderer's hands were steady, and despite the frequent passes made with the blade, it hadn't drawn blood.

"Ha! Well, you see, that's a bit of a story. My family are merchants- taking the wine and enchantments from Elbar and shipping them down the Long Sea, until they looped past Ulraks Claw, the fortress of the headless men, the Anthropophage..."

She talked. She talked mostly about the tall tales and captain biographies her father told her, how the empirical truth of modern reports often seemed more outlandish than the tales of Siljhak the Captain, who once anchored on a island, which turned out to be the egg of a giant sea monster, which hatched while they were ashore. Their voices were hushed, and she sat long after he had finished shaving.

--

Wheel waded through the waves to reach shore. The island was deserted- peat covered the remains of long collapsed buildings that lined the cliffs looking out on the sea. Beyond the bluffs, a pine forest overtook the island. It was surprisingly dense- beyond a span or two the trees grew thick and gnarled.

They were setting up camp before the forest, and Wheel put down a heavy crate, setting it next to another. Pieter was setting up the tents the crew would be sleeping in. One for Berlin and Pieter, one for Wheel and Uban, one for Hanabaptiste, and a pup tent fashioned out of old sailcloth for Rohaan. Wheel's training regimen wouldn't be done in a day, and he didn't want to waste time rowing back to the ship, though he thought the exercise wouldn't hurt some of them. The boy had dashed off into the forest, happy to hunt. Wheel whistled, a simple ditty that he'd heard the oyster girls whistle when he was a boy. The pulse beneath his eyes was slight, only palpable enough for him to appreciate it's presence. They were making good headway, it was only mid morning.

Uban was up first. After a lifetime of waking with the sun, as any good farmer’s son does, he was never fully able to break that habit unless he’d been carousing the night before. He awoke to the soft hiss of waves on sand, the call of seabirds, and a snoring he guessed belonged to Berlin. After relieving himself, Uban rekindled what was left of the fire and began butchering the boar brought by their young hunter. Even though the crew was asleep, he could feel an air of anticipation around him. If he was honest, he was excited to have a chance to push his abilities to their limits and to see what he and Hana could do together. They would need a lot of food in the next couple of days—they always ate more than most as a mostly magical crew, but today they’d need extra. He fetched some tea, some bread, and apples from the ship as well.

Rohaan, awoken by the smell of smoke and meat shuffled over with his hair looking even wilder than usual. His bare toes dug happily into the sand—this was like Home to him. Almost. Uban heard his scuffing feet and then felt a head drop onto his shoulder from behind with a little tired grumble. Uban laughed. “Woke you, did I?”
“Te.” Rohaan plunked down beside Uban, leaning up against him wrapped in his blanket.
“Cold, eh? Startin’ to get cool at night now that fall’s a’comin. Oughtta get you some new winter gear—I don’t think yours fits anymore.” Uban put an arm around him while the other poked at the bacon with a long fork. “You ready for training? It’s gonna be a tough one. I think Wheel’s got plans to push us hard.” Rohaan made a soft noise that was vaguely affirming as Uban pushed a small mug of tea into the boy’s hands. There was a comfortable silence as the half-asleep Rohaan sipped his tea, snuggled up against Uban, then the older man said softly, “we’re gonna get ‘em you know.” Rohaan said nothing. “Berlin aint gonna hold you back—not this time. We’ll show ‘em how stupid it is to mess with The Borealis, eh? And we’ll send ‘em down to the briny blue where The sharks will eat them whole.”
“Yeah...” came his soft reply. “If I don’t do it first.”

Uban blinked hard. “What did you say? Can you—can you do that? Eat a man?”
Rohaan gave a noncommittal shrug. “Probably. I seen it done once.”
Uban stared at the mess of blond hair poking out of a gray wool blanket beside him, his mouth open. Surely he wasn’t serious...but then...maybe he was. “Lad, sometimes you scare me.” He often forgot what he was. It was easy to when he was in a sweet mood and half asleep cuddled up beside him like any young boy. But then he would say things like that, and Uban felt chills down his back.

Rohaan drifted back to sleep, nearly spilling what was left of his tea until Uban slid it out of his hands and nestled the cup into the sand. He let him stay there until the bacon was finished and he held the sizzling pan under the boy’s nose. “Baaaaaacon......baaaaaacooon....” he taunted as the two blue eyes cracked open slowly. Rohaan was more aware this time, more alert, and gratefully took the proffered food and began to munch steadily on it.

The rest of the crew began to stir, with Berlin lagging uncharacteristically behind after the night’s drinking. But they gathered and ate, and as the chewing slowed, Berlin spoke. “So, Wheel. What do you have planned for us? I have an exercise I’d like to do with myself and Rohaan at some point, and Hana needs her obligatory flying lesson. Not to mention, you two should go over your usual aerial maneuvers again as a refresher. But the rest I leave in your capable hands.” Berlin was comfortable enough in his own authority to easily hand it off to someone else if the need arose. Wheel was the master of combat amongst them and, more importantly, he knew firsthand what they were up against.

Wheel smiled and stood, his hands swinging freely at his sides. He was relaxed. A dancer would have envied his movements. He was stiff from suppressed rage so often that one would be forgiven for forgetting with the slightly entrancing grace he moved with. He wore his (slightly splintered) boots, canvas trousers, and a wide belt that was stuffed with pistols and daggers. He picked his teeth with a stiletto as he spoke, tiny speckles of red dashed it's way across his teeth, only for him to occasionally spit on the dew damp turf to clear his mouth. The pine forest watched behind him, a curious spectator. Songbirds Hana couldn't identify warbled in the trees.

"Alright. To start, we'll work on marksmanship. There are muskets and pistols in those chests there," he nodded, "Take a rifle and a pistol, along with shot and powder, and come with me." He waited with barely constrained patience, and strode off to the firing range. Bullseyes made of painted canvas and woodscraps were spaced evenly. "Begin."

Rohaan looked at the rifle that was as tall as he was and then gave a hesitant look to Berlin, who was encouraging him to take the weapon. Rohaan then looked back to Wheel with a betrayed expression—he wanted to train with a knife, not a rifle! Rohaan hated guns. They were his great nemesis and the memory of his recent encounter was a little too fresh. They had killed his parents. Destroyed his home. To him, they were a blunderingly loud, skilless way to kill someone. Not that Rohaan was a stranger to killing—by ten, he’d killed more men than some soldiers do in a lifetime career. He never once had guilt for any of them. In some alternate universe, he might have. But at eight years old, people came into his life and took from him all that was good and right in the world. Whatever childhood innocence he had then, it was stolen that night. And guns were the symbol of everything he hated.

The captain strode over to the lad, putting his hand placatingly on his shoulder. “Rheoaan,” Berlin said coolly, seeing the look on the boy’s face and knowing his moods. “I’ve told you about the importance of knowing your enemy, aye?”
“Aye.”
“Right. The more familiar you are, the better off you’ll be. Besides, if you can’t shift for whatever reason, I want you prepared.”
Rohaan looked horrified, like Berlin had just suggested barbecuing a baby. “Can’t shift...? Why couldn’t I..? Berlin...”
“I just mean nobody knows how sorcery can or can’t affect you. I question if even Hana knows—I don’t think that’s something they teach in schools anywhere. No harm in being prepared,” he said with a pat on the boy’s shoulder.
“Well then....” Rohaan hefted the gun; he was strong and wiry, but it was still quite big for him. “Can I shift bigger?”
Berlin thought for a moment then answered, “half, yes. The last half I want you to do in khiv’tali,, you hear?” The word was Vokurian for “true form”. Berlin figured there was no harm in a bit of a warm up before he really got to training, especially since the boy didn’t interact with guns if he could help it.

Rohaan nodded and changed to his older self, about the same age as Uban in his early twenties. He had the same hair tied back in a ponytail, the same flashing blue eyes, but he sported stubble and a few lines of wear on his face. Cleaned up, he might be described as roguishly handsome in a rough sort of way. And though his voice was deep and he had a confident smile to match Uban’s, there was something distinctly childlike about him. Perhaps it was his gait or his wandering gaze, or maybe just the expression on his face. He now easily slung the rifle over his shoulder and followed the crew into the pines. “You’ll have to show me how to use it, then, Ca-mm,” the unfamiliar voice said. It would have been easy to mistake him for a stranger except for his use of the very distinct ‘ca-mm’ that was unique to Rohaan. “Ain’t never fired one before.”

And as the crew began their marksmanship training, he unsurprisingly did not turn out to be very talented with either a rifle or a pistol, no matter what his physical age was. His combat was all tooth nail and weapons were a foreign concept to him entirely. He did at least understand a knife, as it was merely an extension of the arm. But a gun? It was awkward to him.

Uban proved to be half decent—he had a steady hand and a good eye. Though he was a bit slow with a rifle, he was good with a pistol. Still, Berlin had much more experience than he did and blew him out of the water in both rate and accuracy, and Pieter beat him still. Pieter, after all, was a magnificent gunner. Both he and Berlin had naval experience ages ago and had been trained in marksmanship then. But if it came to it and Berlin was pressed into direct combat, he much preferred a good pair of cutlasses.

—

After they’d spent barrels of powder, Berlin scooped up a handful of very small pebbles and said, “Wheel, if you’ll excuse me, I have something to add before we move on.” He passed out the pebbles to everyone but Rohaan. “Rheoaan, my lad, I don’t doubt these men will be cooler under fire than the Yonin navy. They will be good marksmen. They WILL fire at you. I want to make sure you know what to do so we don’t have a repeat of last time. I almost lost you…would have if it weren’t for Hana.”
Rohaan scowled. “But I can’t stop a ball. An arrow, yeah, but not a ball.”
“I don’t expect you to. But you need to learn when to be on the offensive and when to defend.”
“But I just said I—“
“Defend or EVADE.” Berlin watched this roll around in Rohaan’s head for a moment before adding, “I’d like you to practice. Under fire.”
“What!? You’re gonna shoot me?”
“Easy lad. That’s what the pebbles are for. They’re little, see? Much smaller and lighter than a ball. They won’t pierce your cyradan hide, though they might sting just a little. Are you up for it?”
The boy scowled, deep in consideration and definitely more than a bit nervous. But eventually he nodded resolutely. “Aye, Ca-mm. They won’t get me again so easy.”
“Atta boy! Now up you go. Stay low, like you would if you were going to attack.”

Rohaan shifted and the sleek black dragon vaulted into the air, circled a few times, and then began doing sweeping fly-bys, one after the other. Each pass sent dirt and sand and dry pine needles following after him. Berlin looked at the crew and in all seriousness, raised his own rifle skyward and said, “Fire at will.” He had checked twice that his was loaded only with the little pea-sized pebble, so he took aim, fired, and earned a twitch of muscle and a high growl from the cyradan. “Dead, boy! Try again!” The crew fired, and Rohaan was attempting to use his superior maneuverability and speed to save him. But as his little growls became louder and more frustrated, it was clear that wasn’t working. This exercise served also as moving target practice for the crew.

Above, Rohaan could see Uban lifting his rifle and aiming, tracking him with the evil object, and in a burst of frustration Rohaan tried a different tactic. He waited for the crack of the gunpowder before shifting to a very small swallow. The shot went wide as Uban’s large target became suddenly immaterial and tiny. Berlin, who had been coaching him all the while, laughed and shouted, “Yes! That’s it! Once more!” Pieter fired next, his aim true. But once again, Rohaan had gone from cyradan to swallow the moment the gunshot rang out. Except this time, the little bird became even smaller and the boy all but disappeared, until he swept before them as a hummingbird, then became a cyradan again. It was as if he’d teleported. The dragon jutted his neck out and roared, the sound both deep and rumbling, but also with a discordant note of shrill sharpness. Berlin’s stray locks of hair that always seemed to escape his ponytail fluttered back in the wind of Rohaan’s hot breath, and the man laughed.

Rohaan changed back, panting hard, looking a little fierce but triumphant. “Did I do good?”
Berlin stepped forward and embraced him, looking every bit the proud father. “Aye, Rheoaan. You were magnificent. That’s enough of that. You get the idea, now?”
“Aye!”
“Keep that in mind next time we fight. You’ll need that skill.” He turned back to his master at arms. “Alright, Master Wheel. What next?”

Hana watched Wheel demonstrate how to fire a musket, the process of tearing the paper pouch that held the powder, tamping in the ball. She shouldered the heavy gun, keeping it steady as she pulled the trigger. The sparks and thunderous racket it made weren't very shocking for her. After all, sparks and loud sounds were a mages bread and butter. She was a surprisingly quick study, and got the hang of firing and reloading without too much difficulty. She hit the target once or twice, which wasn't bad either. The pistol was easier for her to hold, and she smiled when she struck the target her second try. Wheel stopped her once, adjusting her stance with a nudge of a knee. He seemed pleased watching them, and would occasionally pack and fire a musket with deadly precision. He outshot Pieter, whose skill he recognized with something approaching deference, Hana noticed. It didn't seem that he ever struggled with anything- if he could do it, he'd do it with a slouching excellence. He had a small smile on his face, and cracked a few dirty jokes with Uban which made her flush when she heard them. The sun was rather pretty off the sea, a dark blue that glinted and foamed white.
Then the target became Rio, and she struggled to swing the musket around to track the Cyradan. She hissed when the already quick moving dragon became a sparrow, and shrank even further in size. At that point, she was firing blindly into the air. Still, she kept at it, since it was rather fun. The dragon landed, claws tearing up the turf.

"Alright, Master Wheel. What next?"

The berserker lit his cigarette, shaking the match out and tossing it behind his back. Smoke trickled out of his mouth as he smiled. He had an easy conversational tone. He expected to be listened to, and was pleased when he was. "Berlin, Uban. Hana, Pieter. Ro and me." He pointed to each as he rattled off the pairs. "Berlin, Uban. Work with cutlasses Don't kill someone again, but see if you can light up that sword, Uban. Pieter, teach Hana how to kill with that stave of hers. And the little shit is going to learn how to fight even with a hunk of iron in his ass. Training armor is over there. It's a waste not to use it." He watched as the crew took their dulled training weapons and put on the heavy leather aprons and smithy gloves that passed as armor. He made sure each group started their training with proper focus. Berlin and Uban would fight, and when a safe distance from Berlin, would try to send lightning up the blade. Pieter was showing Hana how to strike with a staff, and defend from sword strokes. Finally, he turned to Rohaan.

"Alright. If you're going to do this, you can't transform. Not to get bigger muscles, not to turn into a bear. You need to fight right, and I'll teach you how." He held up his own dulled dagger. "Now watch how I stab, and repeat what I do. After that I'll show you a parry, and we'll work on those together."

Uban couldn't conceal his enthusiasm at having a chance to practice with his own magical skill. He tried, but that smile of his, quick to his face always, bloomed on his face despite his attempts to wipe it away. He was a good natured guy to begin with, but at the moment he was quietly beaming. He chuckled. "Don't you worry, I got better control now. Probably." This was only a joke, as he did have much better control of his ability now that he knew it existed. He hadn't then, back in Oak Hill. It had been so sudden, so...well...shocking. And he wasn't sure at the time which was more disturbing--the fact that he killed a man he knew since childhood by stopping his heart, or the fact that he could, and had been sitting on this ability all his life.

Rohaan knew what was coming next. He was even worse at hiding his excitement than Uban; the boy shifted his weight impatiently and kept his eyes on Wheel.
Berlin gave a resigned sigh. "You're giving him a blade, aren't you? Stars above. Alright. Rheoaan, I know it's Wheel but...try not to actually stab him?"
"C'mon Berlin! I wouldn't...I'm not clumsy!"
"No. Just over eager. Ah, never mind. Go on. You should learn at some point or another." Silently, Berlin looked at Wheel and begged him to keep the situation under control. They were his volatile members, the ones that could do the most damage in combat, but also the ones that were most likely to fight outside of a battle. They were like two unstoppable forces, and Berlin often feared what might happen if they ever broke out in any kind of conflict more serious than a little wrestling match or a flung boot. Wheel was a plow. Whatever stood in his way, he would mow down. And Rohaan was chaos embodied--unpredictable, proud, and fierce. Neither would ever back down in a fight, and it was this that Berlin feared.

Uban elbowed Rohaan just as the boy was about to dash off after wheel. "Give 'em hell, kid." They exchanged a grin, and the two went off for their separate training sessions.

--

Rohaan, despite being exhausted from the moving target practice, suddenly seemed to have a second wind, because he was brimming with energy. Though this happened regularly, this moment was particularly good since he actually had somewhere productive to direct all that energy. And he was very ready. Rohaan nodded and listened, though silently he thought that it was kind of silly he couldn't shift. That would be like asking Wheel to turn off his curse, as if that were possible, or for Uban to stick only to pistols. One did not ask a fish to swim and a dog to fly, did they? But he kept these thoughts to himself. Rohaan knew Wheel well enough to know that if he picked a battle with him, the older man would write him off and refuse to teach him immediately. He needed to be patient and do this his way if he wanted it at all.

Rohaan peeled away his tattered shirt and cast it away; the sun was growing hot and he wanted to be unencumbered as much as possible. No matter how much Berlin fed him, he always looked a bit thin. Not emaciated, but wiry and lean. There was a large pinkish scar against his suntanned skin on his side where Hana had patched him up only days before. He had other scars as well--smaller, older ones. But he looked every bit the street rat as he took the blunted blade in his hands and dropped into a fighting stance. That, at least, he understood on instinct. It wasn't exactly specific to blade fighting, but there was no arguing that he knew a fair amount about body posture, movement, and a good solid stance. He took very quickly to stabbing. Parrying, however, took more practice for him and once when he and Wheel were trying it out at speed, he instinctively shifted to a horned ram and made to bash Wheel with his skull, but he realized his mistake and stopped almost instantly and shifted back with a frustrated huff. He was good at adapting while on the offense, but in defense, instinct was hard to break. Overall, he was quick to learn and quick to move. His time on the street made him scrappy, and it was clear that in the future, when he had enough practice to be a decent knife fighter, he would absolutely fight dirty.

---

Berlin swung his cutlass around a few times, listening to it whoosh through the air. He was unaccustomed to armor, but he figured it might be something worth familiarizing himself with. "Think you can match me, Uban?" His tone was playful; he rolled up his sleeves and stretched the muscles in his neck.
"It's on, Berlin."

In that moment as their swords crossed, there was no Captain and sailor. They were just two men, friends, having a friendly spar that got gradually faster and more heated. Their steel rang in the air and their feet scuffed through the sand; occasionally a gruff cry or a growl would sound from their lips. Sweat beaded on both of their brows by the time Berlin, who was very good with a sword, caught Uban's in his own and in a firm motion, swept his own blade around it and knocked it out of Uban's hands, bringing his edge to the younger man's throat.

"Damn! For a while there, I thought I'd have you."
Berlin laughed. "Oh no. I'm not that old yet. You've got a long way to go before you can best me. Come, let me see you light that thing up a few times before we practice at speed, eh?"
Uban grinned wildly. "Aye, let's see..." He thought for a moment, then his cutlass burst into veins of bluish arcs. The sound was deafening, a hissing, buzzing, roaring sound that drowned out even the crash of the waves. Uban let it go, his usually green eyes going a bit gold as they often did when he was playing with extensive voltage. He was laughing devilishly.
"Damn, that's loud. Do it again!" Berlin goaded.

Uban did. He held it longer this time, allowing himself to swing it around experimentally. The dancing arcs trailed behind his blade like short streamers, crackling all the while. He struck a nearby tree and the bark around it burst into small flames as sparks flew from it. They quickly doused the flames, but then Berlin suggested trying it while mid-spar. They started slow at first, looking like they'd only recently ever held blades as they went through steps like a dance. Eventually, Uban was able to reliably pour electricity into his blade even while striking or parrying, and they began to increase their speed until they were back up to full like they had been.

Uban knocked Berlin's hard blow aside, feinted to the right and then cut sideways. Berlin was good and caught the blade, but he wasn't ready for what Uban had in store for him. There was not the same roaring crackle as there had been when Uban had faked an electric blow. This was softer, a buzzing only. And by the time Berlin detected it, it was far too late. His hands clenched and he staggered back with a deep 'oof' sound as he felt a sensation similar to slapping the surface of water with his whole body.

Berlin was blinking numbly when Uban came and extended a hand to help him up; he clapped his captain on the shoulder as he lifted. "You a'right?" He asked.
Berlin gave a surprised sort of smile. "You got me." They both laughed then. "You were going easy on me then. I hate to see the fate of the man who actually crosses swords with you. Damn." He shook his head, still a little stunned. The captain stabbed his sword into the sand and leaned on it casually, breathing hard. "Well go on, show me what else you can do. I know you been working on your stuff these last few months."
"Aye, I have! I want to try and throw it, but I can't quite get it to leave my hand past six inches or so." As he said this, he upturned his palm and tentacles of blue light burst out from it, reaching and grabbing at the air. He clenched his fist and it was extinguished like a wet lamp. "But I can go much further between my hands, see..." He held them apart and an arc jumped between them. His eyes were full gold now, and both men had flyaway locks of hair sticking straight upward.

"Can you fight like that? With it between your hands?" Berlin asked.
Uban shrugged. "I could. I can't do it as strong though. Not sure this would kill you, out like this. I need contact to do that. I can do a lot if I'm touching someone, or something," he said, glancing at his own cutlass.
"Can you make it stronger?"
"Stronger?" Uban laughed. "I don't know. Maybe?"
"Try." He did. Berlin could see his muscles flexing and a look of stern focus on his face, but the arc did grow larger, louder, brighter, even with his hands spread almost to their full span. "C'mon, more! Harder!" Berlin was smiling now, pushing him like he'd pushed Rohaan earlier. Uban got a little more out of his arc, and then with a gasp of breath and a very loud bang, he let it go and it popped out of existence. But between his very heavy breaths, Uban began to laugh heartily.
"I don't...think I got...anymore in me, Cap'n."
"Aye. Go get an apple or something, and we'll go and see how the others are doing."

Wheel grinned as slapped away Ro's blade, stepping into his guard to tap his scrawny chest with his hand. The boy was a natural fighter, and it was good to see him try and fight like a man. A deep affection for the boy grew as he corrected the boys mistakes, rapping his limbs with the flat of the dulled blade. While it didn't leave any serious injury, his skin reddened under the impact, and Wheel knew there'd be yellowing bruises. There weren't many. Despite the occasional slip up- which Wheel reprimanded with a whack- Rohaan proved that he could fight like a human. And he could do it remarkably well. He was a quick learner, which meant Wheel started getting creative with whacking him. The curse was humming to Wheel. His arms were strong, his step light. When it came to knife fighting, Wheel was faster than the boy. It would have been impossible for it to have been otherwise. Despite a life of constant exertion, he still didn't have the strength to perfectly use the blade. If he had been able to transform, it might have been a different story. But a scrawny ten year old couldn't beat a seasoned fighter. Which is what Barizian's were. If he were struck with iron, he'd die. It was worthless to train him when he was as strong as an ox and deadlier than a mantyger. He needed to be able to kill at his weakest. Finally, when the first sweat appeared on Wheel's brow, he called out, "Let's see how you fight with a knife when you can shift!"

A slow, wicked grin set on the boy’s face. Wheel had pushed him hard, but Rohaan was glad for the challenge. Generally, he was a high-energy lad, and like a shepherding dog left to sit alone inside, he got destructive, impish, and wicked if he didn’t have something productive to put his energy towards. Berlin had learned this and kept him busy when he could, whether that was with work or with more mental exertion like studying maps, learning knots, and more recently, attempting to read. But like Wheel, he enjoyed a good fight. The world had always seemed to want to fight him, so he figured early on that he should rise to the challenge. Besides, he was always one to prove himself quickly and fiercely.

Each slap of the blade had just fueled him further. While Wheel had his curse to goad him, Rohaan had anger. Not the kind of anger born of magic, but true, hardened anger born of strife, of loss, of pain. Though his technical skill with the blade itself was fledgeling and new, his spirit was tenacious. He had been focusing hard on trying to do things Wheel’s way, but now the man was giving him permission to do it his own way.

The impish grin turned quickly to an amused snarl as the boy grew, becoming the young man who had fired rifles earlier. He was breathing hard, but that never seemed to deter him as he hefted the blade, took a few steps around Wheel as if sizing him up or feeling the ring, and then he plunged back into action. Larger, he was faster now, and stronger. More precise. He was a long way from it yet, but someday he would be a formidable opponent no matter which weapon he chose to wield—tooth or blade. Rohaan’s fighting style changed, too. Though he was always scrappy, his previous style with blade alone was stiff in comparison to the fluidity of his body language now. He had the option to shift now—he was comfortable, in his element. And he saw their makeshift fighting ring in a different way.

After a series of parries and blows (which he still needed work on but at least had the strength to back up his maneuvers) Rohaan stepped back, crouched low and looking decidedly wolfish, and before he re-engaged, he kicked a spray of fine sand up at Wheel’s face. Any other opponent with more normal reflexes would have been blinded momentarily, disguising his quick shift to a swift hummingbird—it was as if he disappeared in a cloud of dust like a storybook magician, except the chirping buzz of his quick wings could be heard zipping through the air. After some quick maneuvers in an attempt to confuse his target, he seemed to materialize behind Wheel. There he was with his knife like an apparition, grinning madly.

Rohaan became either difficult to track or would go on the offense by changing shapes into something large that the could use in an attempt to throw Wheel off balance or to get his legs out from underneath him. Sometimes he would put what Wheel had taught him about the blade to use, and other times he would default to his usual changing of shapes. He was well lathered in sweat before the rugged blonde became a wiry boy again and he let the blade slip from his fingers into the sand. He couldn’t speak—he was gasping for air—but even as he swayed tiredly, he lifted one hand and touched two fingers to his forehead, then brought his fist to his chest. A Vokurian salute—the first one Rohaan had ever given Wheel. And then, spent, he dropped to his knees with a faint smile still lingering on his lips.

“A’ae si tennanae, Estahan? Have I done good, Teacher?”

Wheel roared with delight as he fought the shifter. He saw Rohaan start to kick up the sand, and he had tucked his head against his chest and leapt backwards. When the hummingbird had become a man again, Wheel had pivoted from the leap and was read to fling himself against his opponent, springing forwards with the dagger to strike at the wild eyed shifter. And while there was determination in the fight, Wheel was deliberate in his lethality. A blunt dagger into the sternum would hardly have been useful in training the boy. Better to just knock him off balance with a palm to the chest after he had overextended himself and left his guard wide open. The addition of the dagger had yet to significantly improve Rohaan's fighting. While he was able to swiftly move the blade now that he could hold it with ease, he was still clumsy with it. Still, Wheel wondered, as he dodged the knife swung in a vicious downstroke by a gorilla, how the boy would find ways to incorporate weapons into his ability to transform. The curse had only given him the gift of excellency in battle, he was limited by the human frame and the feats it was able to accomplish. Rohaan, with the beasts of the world at his beck and call, would find new ways to fight.

As it was now, Wheel could match how Rohaan had fought. There were more licks on him than there had been when he had just fought a boy, but that was expected. Once the fighter had become a boy, panting and worn, Wheel tossed his knife onto the raked up soil. Their sparring match could be tracked from start to finish by the scrapes they had made in the soft earth. Rolling his neck, he grinned at the lad. It wasn't a warm smile, however. Those who saw it were apt to think of the hunting Mantyger.

"It's a good start. You'd be killed by any half decent country militiaman, but a start. Go and hunt game for us in the forest. Take a bow- you know how to use a bow? Take a bow and bring me something as a boy."

Wheel turned away and strode off, going to check on Hana and Pieter.

---

When he approached, he saw Hana striking deliberately with her staff, keeping her legs in line with her shoulder, crouching her knees, head forward. Lifting the staff above her head, she swung it across, digging the end into her ribs. Pieter squarely blocked the strike with his staff, the veins in his arms bulging as he held the staff steady. There was a sheen of sweat on both of them, and Wheel saw the weary shake in Hana's arms as she forced herself to follow through the motions of each strike. Life on the road had left her fit, but she wasn't hardened like a fighter. If she could master battle magic, she'd never need to.
"Alright. Good work, you two. Pieter, go to the Cap'n. I want you two to practice with the grappling hooks. I've the hooks there, and I've lashed that sapling down for you to practice with there." Wheel lit a cigarette, puffing intently as he eyed Hana.
"Uban's figuring out how to use that lightening of his. I want you to find a way to let him strike at a distance."

Wheel found a stool next to the campfire, and sat down. He had a moment to rest, and he was determined to take it.

Rohaan offered up an incredulous look to Wheel when he was told to go hunting with a bow. As if he would sink that low! He huffed, affronted, and said something to him quickly in vokurian with a scowl on his face. Berlin had a point about guns even though he hated them. And Rohaan wanted to learn how to fight with a knife. But a bow? What was he, a peasant human-farmer? There was no point. He did not fear bows like he did other weapons--they were limited in their uses and lethality, particularly if the target could suddenly sprout armored dragon scales. Not to mention, crunching around in the woods with a bow was a clumsy, slow way of hunting. Animals had better senses than that! He would know. Besides, the mere suggestion was an insult to his hunting skills as they were, and though Wheel could stomp him in hand-to hand combat with weaponry, no one could argue he was not a good hunter.

"You do not ask a cow to give milk from her ears and you do not ask a wolf to kill with his tail alone," he growled defiantly, his characteristic stubborn streak cropping up. "You do not ask a shifter to, ugh, hunt with a bow. I am not so low as that!" If he wanted to test survival skills without shifting, he could have asked him to identify edible plants vs poison ones, or to free dive for shellfish (which he was exceptional at, as he'd done it his whole life). Besides, he was exhausted and he did not relish the idea of dragging his kill through the dirt like some lowly scavenging animal. He was a proud predator and would behave as such.

Rising to his feet, he snorted, "Fighting with weapons is your world. But hunting is mine." He spoke with more clarity than a boy his age might, particularly one of low birth and zero education. This was something he felt strongly about. After all, he had learned many things about the ways of humans, but it did not mean he had to become one. He was still ranting when he stomped away. "Next I'll ask YOU to catch a rabbit as a hawk! See how YOU do! Hmph!" His bare feet were still striking the sand hard when he came into their camp and snatched up an apple, sitting on the ground with his feet dangling in a tidal pool lined with dark purple starfish and colorful anemones.

Berlin approached carefully, seeing the stormy look on his face. He didn't know why, but he had the feeling it would be better to speak in vokurian, so he did. "So...how did it go?"
"HE wanted ME to go hunting with a BOW. Ew."
Berlin tried not to laugh, but he did let slip a small smile. "But did you train with a knife?" When he got a nod punctuated by the crunch of an apple, he continued, eyeing the blossoming bruises all over the boy's torso. "Did you fight?" The word he used for 'fight' was one of two the vokurian language had; one meant combat with the intent to harm, the other meant sparring. He used the former.
"No. It was kinda fun..." he admitted. "But he does not know our ways. He does not know my ways."
"No, perhaps not. Are you up for hunting today? After all your practicing?"
"My way, yes," Rohaan asserted edgily as if Berlin had suggested anything otherwise.
The captain held up his hands. "Aye, aye," he said in Carisian. "Tomorrow I'd like you to work on aerial maneuvers, both with Hana and Wheel. Might as well have the rest of us practice too, while we're at it. And if you and Wheel want to invent some new routines between the two of you, that wouldn't hurt either. And..." his tone softened then. "Would you speak with me tonight? About..."

Rohaan seemed to shut down almost immediately. He stopped kicking his feet in the water, stopped taking bites of the apple in his hands, stopped looking at Berlin entirely. With his gaze fixed on the still surface of the tide pool he said softly, "Aye, Ca-mm."
"Good lad." Berlin went back to the fire pit where he found Pieter, and the two went of to practice with the grappling hooks as Wheel had suggested. This was nothing new to either of them--years at sea meant that this skill was old-hat. But Berlin believed in continuing practice lest a skill get rusty. The two chatted idly as they worked, as old friends do.

--

Hana found Uban chewing some leftover meat from that morning's breakfast, looking hot, tired, but not miserable for it. Despite being autumn, summer had yet to fully release her grasp on the world during the day and would occasionally beat the land with hot sun before the cool moon came out. Like Rohaan and Berlin, he too had tossed aside his shirt to better feel the cool breeze. This revealed a set of questionably criss-crossing scars on his back that looked suspiciously like lashes, and one poorly done tattoo that had to have come from prison, though whether it was some kind of identifying mark like the brand on his wrist, or a piece of gloomy artwork done in the dim light of a cell with a sharpened bone, was unclear. His hair, which he usually wore either down or in a sort of half-ponytail was now bound in a sloppy half ponytail, half bun that proved with certainty that he had no idea how to do hair of any kind.

He flashed his trademark smile. "Going well? Hope you gave Pieter hell. I, on the other hand, finally got the jump on Berlin. Kind of literally..." He took out his actually sharp dagger which he was using to cut the meat and held it up as it buzzed suddenly in blue arcs for a second before letting them recede. He offered up a chunk of meat, which was cold now, and asked, "So...tell me what you know about like, summoning lightning. Or, heh, if that's too ambitious then what sorts of things can you do with lightning? Can you summon a storm? Or, or, ooh, could you create perfect conditions for a storm? Like you know how in summer, if you're wearing wool, you're fine but in the winter, you put on wool socks and suddenly you're shocking everyone you touch?" And with a very readable hint of self doubt he wondered softly, "Or...is that just me..?" He stuffed some food into his mouth and through it said, "I'll admit, I'm not entirely confident that I know all of what you're capable of. Never met a mage before."

"Aye Captain. Tonight I'll see if the Salt will come to meet Uban. I don't know much about the ladies around here, but this is still a friendly ocean. If he's to be a Priest, he best meet the mermaids while they'll tease and blow kisses." Pieter grinned, and adjusted the pipe in his mouth. Nothing too untoward would happen tonight, but life as a Priest was...Heh. Pieter flung the grappling hook and watched it arc gracefully until it struck its mark.
"You know about the Lady, which is good of yeh. But Priests need to know all of the sea. From mermaids and selkies to the darker things that live in the deep. Things that can't hear prayers because they don't care what the pleas of men are." The forest beyond them was quiet, and the faintest reminders of the morning fog were dissipating within it's branches. The sea below them was cold, bracing in the way that made the heart pump and raised the will of all who weathered it. At this point, they switched what they had been doing. They took turns flinging the grappling hook, and the other took a cutlass or a hatchet and hacked away the rope that held it. Repelling boarders was an important thing when you had such a small crew.

At this point the conversation had left such important matters, and friendly conversation lifted into the air like fog breaking before the rising sun.

---
Wheel sat on his stool, and listened. And waited for the boy to decide what to do. He spat. Stood up, and strode to where the child sullenly sat. "So you think that you're better than learning how to hunt like a man? You think that because you can turn into a coyote and bite the head off a rabbit you're above the bow?" Wheel's tone slowly lost it's friendliness, revealing an angry edge.

"Because, last I checked, it was men with bows who hunt animals, not the other way around. And you're going to be hunted, boy. Shifters aren't very popular, and they get killed by men with bows. What happens if you get shot with iron, and can't take it out? Then you'll be defenseless and weaker than any man. Because a man can use a bow and you can't." As he spoke, Wheel picked up the bow that had been tossed to the side, strung it, and took one of the arrows from the quiver that lay next to it. Staring into the forest, Wheel effortlessly drew back the string until it touched his cheek, squinted for a moment, and let it fly. It arced cleanly into the air, and struck one of the trees, causing birds to erupt from its branches, squawking as they took flight.

"If you can't fight and kill with every weapon you meet, you'll one day be taken by surprise, and they're be one less Shifter in the world."

Without looking at the boy, he tossed the bow at his feet and left.

---

Hana took the meat and bit roughly into it. Life on the road meant you took good meat when it was offered to you. Hana chewed on the toughened meat and raised her eyes when she saw the crackling dagger. Without the need for complex spellwork, Uban called the lightning and it came. It was like the lightening and the man were the same. Unbidden, Hana began to consider the grammars she'd need to bend the attributes of the lightning, the symbols appearing before her. With her free hand, she scooped some mud into hand, and rubbed it onto her cheeks and her forehead. Tracing an obtuse triangle, what could only be described as a jagged 'L', and an achingly perfect rhombus, soil dripping from her face. Popping the remaining meat into her mouth, Hana covered her mouth and said, "Please do not be alarmed."

With a flicking gesture, Hana hissed under her breath and drew a curtain of crackling lightning into her hands from the dagger. Sparks ran up and down her body as she closely examined the streaking arcs of lightning as it drew bright lines across her umber skin. Laughing, Hana grinned maniacally at Uban. Her magic had worked. She knew she would never feel the pain of lightning so long as she kept the symbols on her body. The harmony of the spheres had been improvised, and she was the glorious result. Lifting her hands above her head in triumph, she faced Uban, saying, "I can't summon a storm, but we can figure out what exactly you can do. Go ahead and hit me with your best shot."

Berlin laughed. "Mermaids, eh?" There was a twinge of jealousy, or perhaps peaked interest in his tone, but Berlin knew better than to waltz into the company of mermaids unawares or unprepared. They were dangerous creatures--beautiful beyond words, he knew, but he was a smart man. He knew of too many sailors who'd met their end that way. "Just don't break my bard," he teased. "I like that one as he is--un cracked." More seriously, he continued, "I'm glad you're taking him under your wing though. You need an apprentice just as much as he needs a good role model. It's taken him some time, but he's just now finding his purpose and way in life. I'm glad of it. He's a good lad."

---

Uban watched with childlike delight as Hana performed her own version of his magic. He had never known magic to be something that could be learned or taught, but rather he thought it was like his, or Berlin's: something that came unbidden to a certain few. He had not grown up knowing he was magical, and distantly he wondered where he'd gotten it, as both his parents were as normal as normal could be. It lay sleeping in him for many years until young adulthood when it came alive quite suddenly and his entire world changed. Though it had been a hard pill to swallow at first, Uban knew deep in his heart that he could never go back, even if he was given the chance.

Uban's smile was wild and bright, accepting her challenge. He stood apart from her, lowered into a fighting stance, and focused on the lightning around her. He could feel it. And not just in the smell of hot metal or the way his hair raised a little when he was close. But deep in his bones he could feel the lightning like a thing alive, like a song. He could feel the way it moved, its patterns, its nature. When he'd first seen her call the lightning to her, he thought that he would move quickly to battle her. But this was new. He'd never before been faced with an external source. He had no idea that he could sense it, and instead of reacting he instead took deep, slow breaths with his eyes closed to further feel the element as though he stuck unseen hands into it. Since this was new to him, he would try something new.

Uban put out his hands and if for no other reason than to focus his mind and his energy, he said clearly and commandingly, "Come."

And it obeyed.

The lightning swarmed around Hana like obedient bees for a second, then gathering, it moved to his hands instead. He held it there like a roiling ball before letting it swim around his body like an armor of volatile light. The lightning was not his, he did not create it, but yet it obeyed his command. The feeling was exhilarating. He opened his eyes and they'd gone from their usual green to hot gold; he had the look and air of a man swept away by a powerfully euphoric drug. He moved it to his hands again, the light from it nearly blinding as it moved and writhed. This was more power than he'd ever held before and he knew it. Uban reached out with his senses, feeling Hana standing there. With the magical markings still drawn on her face, he could feel her, find her like true lightning finds a weathervane. The markings made her feel like the metal knife did in his own hand. He was connected to her like he was the knife. Like a stone, he threw the ball of electricity at her; it splashed over her like waves on the shore before it spread around her like it had before.

Uban's laugh was a mad cackle of delight. He'd never done that before. He had never made it leave his own hand. He took it back again, recalling it like a faithful dog and asked, "Can you make more? Let's see how much I can handle from an external source...and for that matter, can you move it to me like I did? Try! Try!" He was more excited than a child on summer's eve and it showed.

--


"So you think that you're better than learning how to hunt like a man? You think that because you can turn into a coyote and bite the head off a rabbit you're above the bow?"

Rohaan looked up at Wheel with a flat, deadly serious expression and spat, "YES." And he meant it. Wheel did not understand the ways of shifters, of his culture. He did not understand what it meant to have the world of beasts at his command, being confined to one single form (a miserable lot in life, Rohaan thought). To use a tool for something he could do naturally was like taking a step backwards and he could not understand why Wheel thought this was so important. Learning to fight with a bow, for the sake of combat, was like learning to fight with a gun. It was good to know your enemy. And even then, bows were different. He could defend against a bow--dragon skin was highly resistant to such light projectiles, unlike an iron ball. But hunting was not combat and Rohaan failed to see the connection between the two. If he was in a better mood, he might have then asked Wheel to teach him to fight with a bow instead of hunt with it, and that that would be more use to him. But he was not in a better mood.

Wheel kept speaking, and as he turned and tossed the bow at him, something he said had hit a nerve and Rohaan suddenly exploded with anger. He rose to his feet, bristling, and began yelling. "You don't think I know that!? You don't think I know I will be hunted my whole life? What do you know of being hunted? What do you know of your own death? I know better than you ever could, Cursed One. DO NOT tell ME of death! Of being hunted!"

It was then, when Rohaan started spewing curses at him in Vokurian that Berlin tuned in and realized what was happening. His worst fear seemed about to come true and he abandoned Pieter in the blink of an eye, heading for the boy at a dead run. Wheel was walking away, but he could see Rohaan's posture, the look in his eyes. Berlin was very well acquainted with that look. It always preceded blood. Berlin skidded to a stop, sending sand flying as he grabbed hold of Rohaan's arm with a firm grip at the precise moment that Rohaan had taken a step forward towards Wheel. And in that moment the cool, composed, easygoing captain they all knew gave way to pure command and authority that outmatched any naval officer. There was something thunderous in his voice as he commanded, "Rheoaan, enough!"

The boy dropped like a stone in Berlin's grasp. It was as if his words held magical power but indeed it was not his words, nor his voice. It was his touch. Rohaan's whole body went slack and his eyes, once bright with vengeful fire, went glazed and empty in the span of a mere moment. If they hadn't known better, Rohaan looked dead. But Berlin lifted him gently and set him on his feet, and as he let go, life sprang back into the boy's face. Whatever storm was in him a moment ago had been sapped from him, leaving him feeling burnt-out. The boy stepped back, facing Berlin with a look of betrayed horror that made Berlin's stomach twirl.

The Captain had worked very hard to gain the boy's trust. He had labored and bled for it, and he had succeeded in a way he never thought possible. But part of that trust was the unspoken understanding that though Berlin might influence the boy here and there, most commonly to calm him down, he would never outright control him, not fully. Not like that. And Berlin never meant to, but it that moment he panicked and it came on stronger than he meant it to.

"Berlin...." Rohaan breathed, at a loss for words, looking to all the world like Berlin had just tried to kill him.
"Rheoaan I--" He reached out without thinking to put a comforting hand on his shoulder, but the hand was slapped away hard as Rohaan flinched back. Berlin looked like he'd been stabbed. And as he watched the boy sprint away to the waterline until the ocean was up to his knees before making a diving motion and disappearing with too little a splash under the surface, Berlin knew he'd made a mistake.

The man stood there, looking numbly at his own hands for a moment before he gave a defeated sigh and returned sullenly to his longtime friend. He made no move for the ropes again, just sat down and produced a pipe. He filled it, tamped it, lit it, puffed at it. He needed the ritual. Needed a moment to think. A long draw, a long breath of smoke. Then, "I think I've had enough of ropes for now."

Pieter cursed, dropping his pipe the moment he realized what was happening.

---

Wheel lost himself in a haze of anger and turned around and started walking in the opposite direction to get away from everybody.

---

Hana was so enchanted with Uban, she forgot about everything else.

The sensation of the lightning streaming around her skin astonished her. Her skin prickled, and her heart beat violently in her breast. Her vision swam blue; her ears were filled with the humming sound of a thousand bowstrings. Uban lifted his hands, and the lightning swirled into his hands, leaving her trembling.

"I merely struck the aether between the knife and myself against each other, and you did the rest. It's fascinating, you have a natural talent with magic. You grammar as fast as you can think, but only to summon lightning." Still shaking, she sat on a log. Catching her breath, she said, "Master mages can through grammars alone, and so can school taught mages with access to, oh. I don't know the word for it... Telescope? Special telescopes that let magic work better. And trying to force the weather is a dangerous thing." She scowled, thinking about the runaway storms that had pounded the city, the funerals she'd gone to when a mage was torn apart by magic. "But I can help you control your magic, and show you new ways to use it." Standing up, she swung her arms above her head and stretched.

"So, you ready to keep going?" Reaching into the pocket of her britches, she withdrew a lead medallion she had stamped herself the night before. One face was inscribed with a cipher, the other, a triangle inside a circle, with two lines going through it.

"Don't over exert yourself, but go ahead and try to hit this."

Hana was saying a lot of words that made Uban's head spin. Aether? And what did grammars have to do with magic? In that moment, he couldn't decide if if was the quite literal buzz of the lightning that pooled around him like a roaring fog and the rush of adrenaline it brought, or if it was the sheer unfamiliarity of what she was saying. Either way, he was very confused. Like Hana, he had not noticed the scene unfolding some ways off behind him, as all he could really hear was violent buzzing and Hana's voice. And all he could feel was his magic. Now that he held it, he could feel it wanting to rebel against him, to run free into the atmosphere as it was wont to do. He was well acquainted with this rebellious nature and knew how to quell it. It was one of the first things he had learned when he figured out how to control the newly discovered power he held. But it took concentration--more so now that he was holding an immense amount of energy. He had little room for anything else.

He blinked hard. "Aether? Is that...isn't that what you use to put unwary guards to sleep...?" He gave a short laugh. "And I don't know what you mean by grammars. I mean, it's how you put words together. But I don't see what this has to do with any of that...but I would like to see this magical telescope. I wonder what it would do to me, or I to it...?"

He forgot his musings the moment she tasked him with hitting the medallion. He moved on instinct, making a motion like throwing a ball again. This time, the lightning did not leave him and splash over the iron like it had with Hana earlier; it stretched out like fingers from his hand and, falling short of his mark, snapped back to him. "Hmph." He tried harder, punctuating it this time with a growl, though it did him little good.

He had to think through this differently. Remembering the way he could feel Hana, he reached out with his senses and tried to do it again. There she was, like a lone metal pole on a clear hill in a storm. But she wasn't his target. He tried moving out, searching for another connection. His first attempt at this failed; he sought too broadly and couldn't focus, losing all perception. But he tried again, starting with Hana and using his eyes and the loose movement of his hand to try and guide his own mind towards the medallion. To his surprise, he found it. It was so, so faint. Like the heartbeat of a dying man. But he could feel it.

A grin spread on his face; Uban gathered up the lightning in one hand and pushed it hard towards the object and it went soaring across the space between them. The arcs combined into one and struck their mark with force and with an ear-splitting bang. There was smoke and sparks, and when both cleared, Uban was standing there with his feet still firmly planted in the sand, hands and face blackened slightly over a sheen of sweat. And he was laughing. Not the amused laugh of a child playing a new game. Not the satisfied laugh of a man victorious. A deep, throaty laugh that was nothing short of manic bubbled up from his chest. His eyes were equally as manic; wide, golden and wild looking, but terribly satisfied with himself. He looked at his hands, still laughing, then back at her. "That was...heheh, that was the greatest thing I've ever done." And this brought a fresh wave of wild laughter.

---

Puff. Puff. A small space in time, then, exhale. A long, slow exhale. Berlin's gray eyes were a storm. Quiet, but desperately tumultuous underneath those lids. His mind was racing, and though he looked like his cool, composed self to any stranger, his crew would know better. To them, he looked harried. Crestfallen. Anxiety was painted all across his face.
"Damn." He said with a breath of smoke, which he was inhaling with more frequency and speed than he really meant to. "I've done it now. I really have, haven't I? Damn."

His eyes wandered in the direction Wheel had gone. He'd come around alright. He'd be fine. Wheel had a rage like a hot poker left too long in the fire, but at least he was consistent about it. Rohaan...he was all over the board. The disciplinarian in him wanted to lay blame somewhere for the incident, but he found that he couldn't. Wheel had not been provoking him intentionally--he'd been teaching him in the only way he knew how. And Rohaan, he knew, had more on his mind than bows and knives. He even briefly tried pinning the blame on himself, like he could have or should have prevented this situation from even happening in the first place. But that wasn't right either.

Now he had two crew members at odds. Wheel and Rohaan had their spats before, but they were smaller and resolved themselves on their own in one way or another. In this case, he wasn't sure just how affronted Rohaan had been, and how much of it had just been outburst. He wasn't certain how Rohaan would react to being put in close quarters with Wheel again so soon after. Maybe it'd be fine. Maybe it wouldn't. But he just didn't know and that galled him.

But worse was the space now between him and Rohaan. That look in the boy's eyes would haunt him for a long time to come. He had worked so hard over the last two years (had it only been two?), but now he could feel that work slipping through his hands.

His hands.

Merciful Tevira, his hands. He had never asked for his 'gift' as his mother had called it. It came to him very young--younger than he could remember--and entirely unbidden. But his mother had encouraged him to use it for good purpose and his father had stressed upon him the importance of earning the trust of his fellow man the hard way. Everyone needed to, but it would be crucial for him, as there would be those who would doubt him because of what he was capable of doing. And for good reason, he thought bitterly. He had always been so careful with the people in his life, careful to coax true, honest trust out of each and every one of them the hard way.

In that moment, he had just forced it.

Berlin thought distantly that Rohaan might trust him enough to forgive him once he cooled down. That he knew Berlin was not like that. That he understood why he did what he did, that he hardly meant to--not like that. But the truth was, he had no idea. This was uncharted territory for both of them, and considering Rohaan's sordid and all too recent history, Berlin would not be surprised if he had just touched on some dormant but tightly wound nerve that was the remnant of the scared, ragged creature he found packed in a barrel for shelter like a beaten dog.

Puff. Puff. Exhale. Seated on a piece of driftwood, he was a storm expertly contained. "Alright..." he sighed, rubbing his face with his free hand. "I've gotta fix this. Somehow. Damn. I'd go after him, but it's a bit hard when he's at the bottom of the ocean. Damn."

"Hmm, maybe I used the wrong word... I meant the rushing particles that move between the gasses in the air. And just like how grammar is used to shape words, magical grammar can be used to shape the world. School mages are taught grammar that lets them work magic. My spells are just grammars, adapted and used to bend the world. But you, you can bend the world to summon lightning, and you do it without grammars. I was never taught tha- oh!" Uban had flung another arc of lightning, and this time he successfully struck the medallion. The force of it's power sent Hana stumbling, and she marveled at the unassuming man who roared with laughter. The joy was contagious, and Hana grinned at him.

"Amazing! Can you hit this?" Hana lazily tossed the medallion into the air, arcing into the air.

---

Pieter had left his captain, and now crouched at the waters edge. Taking a flask of rum from his pocket, he poured some into the sea. "Ladies, grant me your boon." He spoke softly, and the hissing of the foam swallowed his words and took them away to the depths. The old sailor sat back onto his haunches, and puffed contentedly on his pipe. His mind was clear, and observations came and left without staying in his thoughts. After some time, the sound of splashing rose him from his trance. Some paces away in the water was a beautiful woman. She was naked, and her wet blonde hair clung to her and framed her pale skin. Her eyes were wide and blue, and filled with innocent inquiry. She was a mermaid, child bride of the sea. "Lady, I have a gift for you." He raised the flask of rum above his head, and the mermaid moved closer to the shore at the sight of the flask. "A boy in the form of the fish swims in your waters. He is angry, and I worry for him. I ask you to look for him, and see that he comes to no harm." Tossing the flask to the mermaid, she lifted a graceful limb into the air to catch it. The girl smiled widely at him, revealing dainty pointed teeth. Diving under the water, she raised a sleek tail into the air before splashing it playfully against the water before darting away.

Sucking on his pipe, Pieter watched the sea for a long moment, then stood and returned to his captain who needed him.

If Uban's expression had been dull and uncomprehending before, he looked even more like a simpleton trying to understand why it rained as he blinked stupidly. Particles..? In the air? A vague paranoia hovered briefly over him as he wondered what kinds of things he was breathing in without even knowing; one hand swatted lightly at the air in a small motion as if to try and catch one of these mystery particles.

"Well..of course I don't use...grammars," he said simply. "This," he said, bringing up a little arc between his fingers, "Was not something I learned to do. It just happened. Quite suddenly, actually," he said with a laugh. "Did anyone ever tell you how I ended up here? I used to be a farmer in a tiny town, and one night I was drunk and I got into a bit of a row with my childhood rival. Just a little one. I went to shove him, right in is chest, and the magic in me chose that moment to suddenly come alive. Killed him instantly. Stopped his heart by total accident--I didn't even know what I did at first. I was eighteen," he admitted, then casually continued as if it was only a recap of the weather, "and they carted me of to prison where I lost this..." he wiggled his stump-finger. "But that's another story." He winked impishly. "Nah, my magic works like Berlin's--have him show you sometime. And a bit like Rohaan's, though it's hard to compare that with mine. It just...is."

Uban gave a casual shrug and watched her throw the medallion into the air in a wide, lazy arc. Uban had found the object once with his senses; he did not need to use much effort to do it again. Now that he knew it was there, all he had to do was reach out for it and he would find it like a familiar step in the darkness. Uban closed his eyes; it was easier to feel with them shut. Keeping his arc small, he confidently extended his arm and pushed the lightning outward. It leapt forward and hit the medallion with uncanny accuracy as if it were an iron ball and the medallion was a loden stone. It gave a small crack and pushed the medallion slightly off course as it plunked down into the sand.

Uban was still bubbling with excitement. "I can feel it!" he said. "Like...like a heartbeat. Or..well it isn't a heartbeat, it doesn't have one. But in that same way you can reach out and feel something. And I have a connection with it now that I've 'found' it. I could hit that thing from anywhere--within range. What is my range...? Anyway, it's like, like a lightning rod some folks use to keep the lightning off their thatched rooves? Like a...Like..." Words failed him, so he clapped his two hands together like they'd been drawn in by some force.

Uban closed his eyes, feeling outward again. Still, all he could feel was her and the medallion. "Huh. I wonder...bear with me." Uban moved toward her, reaching out to wipe away the muddy mark she'd drawn on her face as casually as if he were a groomsman brushing a fly away from a horse. Eyes shut again for a moment, he frowned curiously and said, "Aha! I can't feel you now that the mark is gone. Can you draw them on something else? A rock or a piece of wood? Tell me, what are those marks you drew on yourself? What are they for, what do they mean?" He was practically rambling and he did not seem to notice that his hands were shaking a little from exertion.

--

Berlin said nothing about it, but as he watched Pieter return to him, there was an appreciative look in his stormy eyes. Berlin hadn't seen where he went, but he guessed enough. Rohaan was the most capable waterman Berlin had ever met, so he didn't worry too much about him being alone, though he appreciated the idea that someone at least might have an eye on him nonetheless. The two sat in amiable silence, as they were prone to do. He'd filled his own pipe again and was blowing more smoke than a blacksmith's forge, his stomach twisting.

"I've got half a mind to go down there you know," he said, his tone sullen. "I'm not a great free diver, but maybe the gesture would be enough to coax him out." He gave a heavy sigh. "Nothing for it though. If he wanted to be found, he wouldn't have gone where I can't follow. He'll come up when he's good and ready," he said, very obviously trying to convince himself and not Pieter. "And then it'll be Tavalor all over again. Except, I suppose that at the very least, we do speak the same language now. That counts for something." Of course. He'd done this before and it was much more difficult then than it would be now. He had endured growls and snarls, the snapping of teeth and the swiping of claws. It had been a hard road, but he did manage it. He could do this.

Berlin's eyes wandered, remembering as if with a sudden panic that he had more crew to look after and he realized he didn't know how they all were doing. He'd accounted for Wheel, but not Uban and Hana. He saw them chatting, smiling, and Uban had finally managed to turn his lightning into some kind of projectile in one way or another. Good. "Well, looks like I did something right today," he mused, glad for a tiny piece of good luck.

---

It's a very difficult thing to be enraged under water. For one, the water itself slowed down most movements and made Rohaan feel weightless (something he only found irritating at the moment). It muffled angry cries, and it was impossible for him to spit fire. Bitterly, the azure-eyed octopus settled for crushing things instead. While he couldn't really explode and yell and roar and burn, Rohaan was alone. More than anything, he wanted that right then. He just felt so...felt...so... Agh!

The octopus pulsed a violent red, though no sea creature was around to see it. Rohaan and the crew discovered early on that wherever the boy went, dogs barked madly at him, horses spooked and whinnied nervously, and whales keenly avoided him. Animals, particularly those that are primarily prey animals, feared him. When asked about it, Rohaan had once explained the belief that animals can sense the shifter's Khiv'estanye, their 'true alternate' form. Those that had predators as their favorite alternate form consistently had trouble with animals.

He didn't know what he felt. Frustrated, for sure. Angry, and more than a little hurt. And other things he couldn't quite put a name to. Berlin had never done that to him. Ever. The man had cooled him down, or held him still for a medical procedure. He had even made Rohaan more prone to being quiet once, though that was a sort of vague influence that he could have fought against if he'd tried. And every time Berlin did use his magic on him, he usually explained why he was doing it. Rohaan learned quickly that Berlin had powers of persuasion and it was only after he was certain that Berlin would not abuse this power that Rohaan began to trust him. Rohaan saw this restraint and respected it, deeming Berlin a decent man in his book. With Berlin, he had always been free. He was not a prisoner, nor a slave, and if Rohaan had the mind to, there was nothing keeping him from leaving but his own free will.

But what he had just experienced was...he shivered. It was like all that he knew about his relationship with Berlin had been upended. Or at least, that's how he felt. His underlying anxiety about facing the Barizians again was made worse by the fact that his safe haven, his protector, his mentor, had very seriously breached his trust. Where was he supposed to turn?