It was a day, much like any other on board the ship. Azakar was being harried by Faalken, Binter, and Sisska near the stern, and Dolanna had Keritanima, Dar, and Allia near the bow, teaching them more and more about Sorcery. Tarrin didn't really have anywhere to go, so he kept Miranda company. Not that she needed company. Miranda seemed to be perfectly content to be alone, just as she seemed to be content to be with company. She was an enigmatic Wikuni, and someone to whom Tarrin could relate. He rather enjoyed someone who didn't talk for the sake of talking, like some others did.

"You're getting in the way, Tarrin," she chided, lifting the sleeve up so she could see what she was doing.

He hunkered down, then laid down on her lap, letting her return to her more comfortable position. His eyes were on the prisoners. They sat amidships, under lean-tos made of sailcloth, with two cutlass-wielding sailors keeping an eye on them. They were universally quiet and a bit sulky, and he could understand why. But not one could look in his direction and hold his gaze for more than a moment, other than Sheba. She seemed almost indignant in her glares at him. She was chained to the other pirates, but she stood where they sat. The days since the loss of her ship had seemingly returned her combative personality, as she shook off the defeat and the imprisonment. She was nearly getting cocky again, being waspish with the men guarding her. Her behavior confused him, because only a day ago, she was more than willing to jump over the rail and let the sea claim her. Something had changed that had curbed her desire for self-destruction, but he couldn't imagine what it could be.

He jumped down off Miranda's lap and changed form, then leaned against the bulwark and rail and looked down at the insufferably cute mink Wikuni. She glanced at him and gave him a cheeky grin, then went back to her needlepoint. "You want to talk?" she asked.

"I guess," he replied.

"Something had to get you off my lap and back on two feet," she said with a wink. "The only thing you can't do like that is talk. That kind of narrows the options, you know."

"I'm just wondering what's made Sheba so happy," he said, looking down at his claws and inspecting them.

"I'm not sure yet," she replied. "I've been watching her, and she's definitely thinking that her flag's been raised to the top of the mainmast." She bit the green thread apart, then pulled out a spool of red thread from the shoulder satchel she commonly carried about. "I can't see a reason for it."

"Do you think that it's dangerous for us?"

"I doubt it," she replied. "She only has twelve men, where we have nearly fourty, and several of which could kill her entire complement single-handedly. She's not going to start trouble. She'll be keelhauled if she does, and she knows it."

"I've never understood that term."

"What term?"

"Keelhauled."

"Well, when you keelhaul someone, you tie a rope to them then throw them off the bow of the ship," she replied. "They get pulled under, and dragged against the ship's bottom. That may not sound bad, but there are these little shellfish called barnacles that collect on a ship's bottom, and their shells are sharper than the edge of a good sword. It's about the same as getting dragged behind a horse over broken glass. There isn't much left that comes out from behind the stern."

"Sounds unpleasant."

"Slightly. Ships have to pull up onto beaches from time to time to get their hulls scraped. The barnacles slow a ship down. It's a messy job, and most sailors that get roped into it have shredded meat for hands by the time they're done, if they're not careful."

"I wonder who thought that kind of punishment up."

"Not someone I'd like to meet, I assure you," Miranda said, threading her needle.

"For someone who hates to sail, you know alot about sailing."

"I'm Wikuni, Tarrin," she grinned. "I may not like sailing or the sea, but I can't get away from it. Not when it's my people's national pasttime."

"You have a point there," he admitted.

"This girl will keep her tail on dry land, thank you," she said. "At least when I can."

"How is Kerri?"

Miranda glanced at him. "That's a strange question."

"Well, I haven't really been talking to her lately," he admitted. "I haven't been talking to anyone, for that matter."

"Whose fault is that?"

"Let's not go there, Miranda."

A sudden gust blew up, causing the sails above to snap against the force, making him look up. The wind was picking up ahead of that line of clouds, obviously a storm line, and the ship began to pick up its speed. It began to rock to and fro slightly as it plowed into the waves.

"Looks like we'll be making up some time," Miranda said, looking up. "That rainline won't hit us for hours, and it's going to push us ahead of it. We may be in Dayise tomorrow night."

"I didn't realize we were so close."

"How big do you think Shace is, Tarrin?" she winked.

"I grew up in a village, Miranda," he replied. "To me, the next village was an entire world away. The whole world seems big to me."

"I guess it is, but to a ship, distances don't mean that much," she said. "Only really serious trips, like back to Wikuna, take a long time."

"How long did it take you to get here?" he asked curiously.

"Almost two months," she replied. It would take a little over a month to get back to Wikuna, if we were going that way."

"Why the difference?"

"It has to do with wind and sea currents," she replied. "There are wind patterns and an ocean current that make getting to Wikuna from here faster than getting here from there. To get here, a ship has to sail from the northern lattitudes. That's why the Stormhavens and Suld are such large ports, and we visit them so often. To get back to Wikuna, we'd have to leave from Dayise and travel along the southern lattitudes, where the winds favor a westward journey."

"I didn't know that," he said musingly. "It's surprising the Wikuni go so far from home."

"To most Wikuni, the sea is home," she replied calmly. "Those back in Wikuna just hold down the homeland until it's their turn to go out."

"Strange."

"We're a race of wanderers, Tarrin. I guess it would seem strange to someone that would have been happy sitting in one place all his life."

"Oh, not me," he chuckled. "I was getting out of Aldreth. I wanted to see some of the world."

"Well, you've seen some of it. What do you think so far?"

"I think I'd have enjoyed it a great deal better if things had gone differently," he said soberly, flexing his paw. "Much differently."

"Do you regret it?"

He looked out to sea, his expression distant. "I want to, but I can't. Part of being like this is a sort of forced acceptance. The instincts have imprinted on me, Miranda, in a way that makes it hard for me to remember how I used to be. Even the first day after the change, I wasn't sure if I'd been born any other way."

"Hmm," she said, putting a finger to her cheek and regarding him. "I wonder what you looked like, before that happened."

"Now that, I can show you," he said, closing his eyes. It had been a while since he'd done it, and he had good reason. Looking within, he tried to conjure up an image of himself before he changed, but it wasn't easy. That part of his life seemed like ancient history, and he had to concentrate before he felt ready to attempt a change. He gritted his teeth and did so, feeling his body contract slightly as it was forced to flow into a mold that didn't entirely contain it. He felt the muggy sea air on his human hands and feet, felt it on his human ears, and felt the immediate nagging ache spring up throughout his entire body. He turned to face her, saw her surprised expression, holding his arms out so she could see that he really didn't look that much different at all.