Chapter 25: Thanks for the Mammaries

It did not take long, traveling with Trout and Jnii within the relative confines of a boat, for Ivan to figure out what had caused their sudden changes in disposition. He had already witnessed a number of bizarre acts of magic… some as insignificant as the lighting system in Dool’s tower, others embodied in the forms of creatures such as Mirrathan, the walking skeleton, and Gareth, the lion-eagle abomination. This latest trick was, by far, his least favorite of the magical events he had witnessed thus far. In fact, after merely a few minutes within a close perimeter of the two, Ivan decided to keep as far away from them as he could for the rest of the sea voyage. If necessary, he had already found a box of just the right size that he could float along behind the boat and sit upon while holding a rope that was fastened to the ship. Just to be safe, he even fastened the rope in advance. He had never been out on the ocean before, but he was sure it would work.

Brooding quietly at the back of the ship, Ivan soon had more pressing concerns than the corpulent prattling of his companions. Having entirely run out of means to entertain himself by midday (which is saying quite a bit for a young boy having spent much of his life alone), Ivan was becoming fast certain that he would die of boredom. It enraged him how there was no place he could go on the boat that was out of the sight radius of both his “friends” and the grim-faced Vikings. Any time he would spot some fascinating Viking trinket or treasure, some sort of magnificently jagged weapon, he would wait until he thought nobody was watching and make his move. Somebody was always watching.

The first time, reaching for a long, serrated knife that glinted from within a nearby pack, he was merely reprimanded in a gruff voice by nearby Viking rowman.

“Watch your hands there, midget.”

The man said without missing a stroke, glaring at Ivan through the deceptive wall of blonde hair that hung over his eyes.

The others gathered near stern of the vessel, either rowing or resting, all sniggered as the same man barked at him to put the treasure back. Ivan inwardly vowed to someday murder them all.

The second time, the boy did not suspect in the slightest that the heavy-set and red-bearded Viking standing and stretching to his left had any idea Ivan was in the process of stealing his war horn. The man was facing away from Ivan with the horn in question simply hanging from his belt, taunting him, until he had to reach for it. Next thing he knew, faster than he ever thought possible from a man his size, the Viking had spun and kicked Ivan’s legs right out from under him. He landed flat on his back, the air flying out of his body and paralyzing him. The majority of the nearby crew broke out in riotous laughter, as if the whole lot of them had seen it coming. Jnii (though the gesture was classic Trout) even came running to see what the fuss was about and immediately joined in with the laughter, pointing at Ivan’s prone form and claiming that he would grow up to be more of a woman that she (then pointing at her breasts for emphasis). This made them all laugh harder. A blurring field of red washed over Ivan’s vision as he realized that murder would be too quick.

The third time around, Ivan decided he would waste no effort on subtlety.

Less than a few minutes after his most recent loss, the lad wandered over to the sails and made it look as if he was aimlessly sulking. He sat with his back to the mast and appeared, as if part of the whole sulking process, to fumble rather childishly with a thin coil of rope and a large cloth sack. Just a short time later, Ivan very blatantly slinked back to that original pouch he had targeted, took out the knife, and then walked back to the mast. There was a low grumble of disapproval at this that washed the entirety of the stern of the boat. The same blonde Viking, with the hair that covered his eyes, shouted for him to put it back or be beaten into some sort of word Ivan did not understand, though it did not sound kind nor solid. The man seemed put off, but it did not keep him from his duty of rowing.

Ivan acted as if he had not heard the comment and began using the knife to carefully saw at a rope on the mast. The ominous grumble became louder, a few heads even turned, and the blonde Viking stood from his post and made long strides towards Ivan. The boy did not seem to particularly notice or care.

“Are you deaf, midget?” the man hollered once more, “You’ll ruin the ship! I should cut you right back!”

Ivan showed no signs of response, though the Viking rowman had reached the mast in practically a leap and seized the boy by the collar of his shirt. His powerful arm lifted Ivan’s body off the ground and turned him towards his face, stopping the sawing motion entirely. No longer occupied with the rope, Ivan held out the knife with the apparent intent of using it to protect himself, awkwardly swiping the air. His eyes were quite suddenly wide and aware. A few Vikings laughed, and the blonde aggressor even mustered a grin.

“Very well, midget,” he said, “First strike is yours. Though I wager you do not break skin.”

His eyes still wide, shaking slightly, he brought the knife back, the Viking man watching it curiously. But then the boy’s eyes went cold and the shaking stopped. That was when his other hand flew out, sending a loop of thin rope into the air that hooked neatly over the man’s head.

“Eh? What is this?” he muttered.

Then Ivan’s knife-wielding hand slashed frantically at the rope behind him, the one he had already been sawing and was thus considerably frayed. The motion severed the rope, and in the brief moment before he was suddenly pulled towards the Gods, the rowman noticed the series of knots Ivan had made and had been concealed behind his person. The sails dropped down, the rope went up, and somewhere around the deck another short piece of rope went taut and followed the original, bringing the Viking’s neck along for the ride. In a matter of seconds he found himself gasping and gagging, clutching at the noose that was now taut around his throat.

After watching their friend struggle at his new place at the top of the mast for a moment, many of whom having witnessed the entire process, the other Vikings rushed forward to help him. They stumbled over the fallen sails and searched for any of their sharp objects that had been covered by the cloth. The man was high off the ground, but everyone was immediately aware that he would be better making the drop than continuing as he was. The rope had to be cut once again. All concern for Ivan’s actions, as well as Ivan himself, were momentarily lost in the chaos.

It was the noble Gudmund that was first to his man’s aid, bringing his sword into the mast and severing the offending rope with a sharp crack. Not even wasting a precious second to glance up and surmise his success, he shouted at those who had rushed closer to step forward, all the while pointing to a spot to his right. The others followed the command instinctively, a few only becoming aware of the plan just a few seconds before the once-suspended rowman came crashing down into their ranks. The fall would likely not have been fatal, regardless, though this way the injuries were dispersed and relatively light, as most were prepared to catch their falling comrade. There were only a few bruises and scrapes among the lot, and the hanged man thankfully only had a sore neck and a weakened voice to show for his woes.

After the damaged was assessed, the Vikings all at once returned their attention to the task of punishing the cursed midget. They groaned and scowled and turned their heads all about, helping each other to their feet. It did not take long for them to notice Ivan, standing on a box right near the stern/starboard corner edge of the vessel and making no effort to hide. He donned a calm grin, and kept his arm balanced against a cloth sack about the size of his torso that had been placed precariously on the railing of the ship. He raised his other hand, and everyone could see clearly he was holding a war horn… the very same war horn he had attempted to thieve just minutes before. Ivan casually tossed the horn into the sack, and in doing so a few of the men caught glimpses of sparkles that were undeniably characteristic of precious trinkets. Their precious trinkets.

Trout and Jnii stood among the onlookers, partially horrified that their companion’s actions would in some way jeopardize their own positions among the Vikings. Gareth sat further back, relatively unconcerned, though he made a quick sideglance to make sure he could fly himself to shore with Dool should the need arise. Euphrasia sat near him and barely looked aware of the situation at all, much less conscious, as her head bobbed along with the waves.

“Oh God,” Trout gasped, “I’ve seen him with that look before.”

“What do you mean?” Jnii replied.

Jnii’s response was drowned out by cries and howls that rose high into the heavens. For there, before every person onboard, in broad daylight, completely unprovoked, Ivan had shoved the sack of treasure over the edge of the ship. He did not even bother to watch as the sack hit the water and sank into the deep like a stone full of stones. The horde of men rushed forward, screaming. A few looked over the edge, but most knew judging by the amount of metal they had seen that the sack was irretrievable the very second it hit the water. That group opted, instead, for grabbing at Ivan, who had made no effort to run and did not even waver as the mass of rage approached. The first man that managed to grab hold of him happened to be the same man to whom the war horn had belonged, and the rage in his face matched the redness of his massive beard as he barked at others to stand back and allow him to punish the midget as his right.

The group backed away, forming a circle, though they did not stop screaming. Jnii stood far away from this scene, peeking out from behind the mast and having to hold on to Trout to keep him from acting rashly.

“We have to do something,” Trout said, though with a certain meekness that indicated skepticism.

“Just hold on here, woman! They might tear you to pieces,” she replied, “And I was sort of hoping on getting my body back. Let’s see where the little bastard takes this, first.”

The red-bearded man, whom Ivan suspected was named Grom, largely due to the frothing cluster of angry Vikings that began chanting the word “Grom,” easily lifted Ivan off the ground by his collar just has his comrade had done seconds before. The powerful muscle heaved Ivan’s body over the edge of the ship and allowed him to dangle over the water.

“You should stay here to die among those items to have cursed to the sea!” Grom said as he spat on Ivan.

Ivan sort of nodded. He then pulled out that same knife he had snatched before from somewhere around his waist and lashed out at Grom’s arm. The Viking barely flinched, and ultimately smiled as he watched his blood trickle into the sea. He used his free hand to quickly grab Ivan’s wrist and wrest the knife from his grasp.

“It is good you draw blood,” he said as he took the knife away, “Now the Ice Squid will surely come for you, for we near their waters.”

“Ha! The Lady and I have fought Krakens before. Let them come!”

Ivan spoke with confidence, though he did sneak a fearful glance down at the water. He thought he saw something snaking beneath the surface, though he could not be sure. Back on the ship, a few murmurs arose at Ivan’s comment, and even Grom’s eyes flickered at the idea.

“Enough Grom!” a voice from onboard cried out, “Calm yourself!”

The voice was that of Gudmund, who had been standing at the edge of the scene, his half-brother Leif just over his shoulder. Grom knew the voice without turning, and wasted no time slinging young Ivan back into the ship, though making sure he came down hard on the deck in the process. Gudmund approached, looking the lad over like he had genuinely never seen him before.

“He is only a boy, after all,” he sighed, “A crafty boy, but a boy nonetheless. What is your name?”

Ivan sat up, suddenly more afraid than he had yet been. Nobody had ever asked for his name before. The other Vikings remained remarkably quiet during the exchange.

“Ivan,” he mumbled.

“A good name,” Gudmund grunted approvingly, “A warrior’s name. Why did you act as you did, Ivan?”

“They keep calling me midget,” he replied.

“Then you claim that they deny you respect?”

“I guess so.”

“Ah. So you challenged their disrespect?”

“Yes.”

“Do you know fear, Ivan?”

“No.”

“I believe you. Have you ever killed a man?”

“Yes.”

“Tell me how.”

“I tackled him off a bridge and he drowned while we wrestled in the water.”

“… that was when we found you?”

“Yes.”

“I see. You are a brave one, Ivan.”

Ivan was speechless. He had been called many things for many reasons, but ‘brave’ had certainly never before been among them. Gudmund raised his voice as he continued speaking, loud enough for all those clustered about to hear.

“The fact that this boy has made us all look so foolish today is merely our own dishonor, and for grown men to retaliate against a boy only furthers that cause. But tonight we shall dock at Rotjnir on our way to Oxfjord, and there Ivan shall become a man. Then you may settle your ills with him. For now, let us get this sail back in place!”

There was a good deal of head scratching and muttered agreement at these words, and soon all the men were moving toward the mast and making better use of their time. Ivan was just beginning to rise to his feet when Grom kicked him hard in the back of the leg as he passed by and sent him down on one knee. Ivan looked up, glaring, to find the fire-bearded Viking returning a gaze of his own. It puzzled Ivan though, and would do so for some time to come, because unlike himself, Grom donned a smile: and it appeared neither snide nor aggressive, rather, an indication of playful esteem.

It was in this moment where Ivan first realized that, aside from his unwavering and passionate hatred towards them as individuals, he actually sort of liked the Vikings.

Trout was soon by his side, kneeling and examining Ivan’s general well-being.

“Are you okay, Ivan?” he said, “Did they do anything to you?”

“I don’t think so.”

Jnii ambled into the scene, her arms crossed.

“What the devil was that about?” she asked.

“I don’t know,” Ivan said.

“What are they going to do you?” Trout pressed, “Make you a man? What does that mean?”

“I don’t know,” Ivan sighed.

“Oh… I know what it means,” Jnii shook her head slightly, “And I would do just about anything to become a man at this point... but I wouldn’t do that.”

“Kiss?!” Jnii and Trout both cried out at once.

“Would you please quiet yourselves,” Gareth grumbled, his eyes narrowing to slits, “He’s sleeping again. And I really don’t see the problem, anyway. It’s not like you two haven’t done that sort of thing before.”

Trout put his hands on his hips, “Oh? And how would you know?”

“Well, I…,” Gareth flustered, “I just thought you both… each… together… had… I mean, the impression that I had was that you were… oh dear.”

Jnii buried her face in her hands and rubbed at her temples.

The group, in the company of the Vikings, had docked at the small fishing village of Rotjnir late that afternoon, and currently found themselves holed up as guests in the large meeting hall. Thatched roofs and earthen floors was the general atmosphere for the humble village, but the meeting hall was by no means uncomfortable, boasting many well-crafted chairs and a large fire-pit at the center. Gareth reclined near the fire, protectively curled around Dool’s pouch, while Trout and Jnii stood and protested before him. Euphrasia sat in a large chair on the other side of the flames, wrapped in a blanket and staring into the embers as she sipped a special tea out of an earthenware cup.

“Are you calling me a whore?” Trout took a step forward as he spoke, hands still firm on his hips.

Gareth’s jaw dropped.

“I said nothing of the sort!” he protested, “I just don’t see why a quick kiss is such a horrendous remedy! He once disintegrated my feet! Do you know what you have to drink to make feet grow back?”

Trout stiffened and crossed his arms, tossing Jnii a glance as he did so.

“Well maybe I just don’t want to kiss him.”

“Technically you’d be kissing yourself,” she interjected through her hands.

“Technically you should shut it!”

Euphrasia cleared her throat and the exchange abruptly ended. It was the first the group had heard out of her in some time. Jnii even took her hands from her face.

“Gareth,” she said, barely audible over the crackling flames, “I do not doubt you, but merely wonder in regards to my own studies… what exactly is your reasoning behind suspecting this a remedy?”

Gareth nodded to indicate his lack of offense.

“He was awake for a time, on the boat,” he replied, “I asked what him what he had cast on the two, and he could not remember. But then he dwindled off… said that it frustrated him how they did not realize how alike they were… how he had just wanted them to kiss and truly see each other. … then there was something about a river of fire and how much he likes the taste of roast rhinofullus… and thinking about food always knocks him right back out… I suppose a lot of it is just a guess, but once you’ve been around him long enough, you start to see connections. And, of course, the mouth is the gateway to the soul.”

“I thought that was the eyes?” Jnii interjected again.

Gareth replied with a glare.

“So… do you think there could be another way?” Trout asked.

“Probably,” Gareth sighed, “But I could not fathom a guess as to what. Dool could undo it if he were healed, I am sure, though you may not have that kind of time.”

“Wait… what- time?” Jnii said, “What do you mean by that?”

“There are two types of incantations that cause physical effects,” Euphrasia began to explain, “One kind causes a temporary physical change, which eventually wears off over time. The other kind causes a permanent physical change, and the ability to properly reverse it becomes more difficult over time.”

She paused for a moment to allow this to sink in, still staring at the flames.

“It’s hard to know which kind Dool used,” she finished.

“So this could become permanent?” Jnii shouted.

Nobody seemed particularly poised to respond, which made Ivan’s entrance all the more awkward. He sort of wandered slowly through the front door, his face as placid as a still pond.

“I’m going to die,” he said very plainly.

Jnii held up a hand towards Ivan.

“Just a minute, Ivan,” she said, turning to Trout, “You. We need to kiss. Right now.”

“I don’t know,” he shrugged, “I’m sort of starting to like your body.”

“What…?”

“I don’t have to worry about being taken advantage of… I can take care of myself…”

“Enough! This is ridiculous!”

Jnii threw her arms in the air and suddenly came at Trout.

“What are you doing?” he said.

Jnii made a lunge for him, lips pursed, but Trout managed to quickly extend an arm to keep her at bay. He laughed at the attempt, but she simply kept coming, becoming even angrier as he laughed and easily resisted the attacks.

“Doesn’t anyone care that I’m going to die?” Ivan complained.

“The Viking rite of passage is brutal, but you will not die,” Gareth asserted, “If for any reason because the devil seems to like you too much. You have his luck.”

“Can’t somebody magic me with some sort of power?” he pleaded.

Gareth and Euphrasia exchanged quick glances. All the while, the kissing battle crept towards the fire and raged all around them.

“Sometimes you just have to take responsibility for your actions, Ivan,” Euphrasia said without looking at him, and with an added coldness that he had not yet ever heard in her voice, “It was not right of you to break their ship and steal their belongings.”

“But they say I’m half the age I should be… and I’m smaller than most…”

“You’re more capable than most people two, three, or four times your age, Ivan,” she replied, “You’ll think of something.”

Ivan grumbled.

“I wont let you die, Ivan!” Trout giggled and then ran outside, “At least not alone!”

“What?” Jnii cried out, giving chase, “No! Don’t you dare!”

It was a fairly warm night along the brushy hillsides of Rotjnir. Currents kept their small island fairly temperate all year round, and so it was fairly common at any given time to find the majority of the villagers enjoying themselves outdoors. It had almost become tradition for the fishermen of the village to return to the docks in the afternoon and relax until evening, resting beneath a covered festival area near the water. This night was no exception, and with such exciting visitors and strangers about, fused with the presence of strong spirits, the casual custom gradually became a riotous celebration as the evening wore on. Upon leaving the meeting hall, one could immediately hear the commotion of drunken singing voices as they echoed out across the water. Trout ran towards these voices now, against a light wind that swept off the ocean and blew about Jnii’s skirt as she gave fast pursuit.

“I hate you!” she shouted, “Gareth was right! You’re a whore!”

But Trout ignored it all, approaching the festivities and beginning to draw attention from the Vikings and villagers that laughed heartily among themselves. Jnii caught up with him here as he slowed, trying to tackle and kiss him as frantically as any of them had ever seen from a woman. The group broke out in riotous laughter at the sight, and this quickly dissolved into a cheer.

“Beurel is certainly a charmer!” one crooned.

“He actually has to fight her off!” said another.

“Our women are not safe with him around!” came yet another analysis.

This last line sort of brought an end to the drunken commentary, and generally made the Viking men each feel a little less comfortable and… adequate… than they had been seconds before. Thankfully, Trout took the opportunity to fill this gap before the others could dwell upon it too long. He cleared his throat and, continuing to fight off a passionate assault, made an announcement in his ringing baritone:

“Noble gentleman! I have come to love your people these last few days, and I have no greater wish than to become a man among those of you who are truly men! So I have decided that I will be joining my friend, Ivan, tonight, in undergoing the rite of passage!”

This speech brought about a clamorous cheer that could likely be heard for miles in every direction. Cups were raised high, men rose to their feet, a few stumbled right to the ground… those who had been in the back (or too drunk) and not heard the news looked over the faces of their friends with hurt and confusion for not being able to comprehend their joy. And right in this instant, before Jnii could fully take it in and cry out with a horror that came from the very core of her being, Trout succumbed to her advances and came towards her to meet in an awkward but effective kiss. Merely a moment afterward he forcefully pushed her away, his expression changed from one of mild amusement to utter fear. Jnii backed away from Trout and stared at him a moment before smiling.

“Thank the Gods!” she said, “It worked.”

“Oh! Right! Yes!” Trout threw up his arms, “Good then! Everything is all back to normal!”

“Oh come on… are you mad?”

“Am I mad?” he spat on the ground, “You’ve cursed me, wench!”

“You’re such a baby! Ivan is taking it better than all that and he’s less than half your size!”

“Ivan hasn’t seen it before! I have! Also: Ivan earned it.”

Jnii crossed her arms.

“Okay,” Trout sighed, “Let me rephrase that: Ivan let himself get caught.”

“You’re a bad influence on him! He looks up to you! The least you could do is grow some dignity and tough it out with him!”

“… he what?”

“He always used to be a jerk, but now I think he does it just to impress you.”

“He punched my leg.”

As they spoke the crowd of Vikings and villagers spread out from the festivities to begin to envelop them. Gudmund was among that group, more smiley than usual, and he wasted no time in interrupting the exchange. His half-brother, Leif, was right at his side, and the large man quite blatantly looked Jnii’s figure over from head to toe with a wide grin. Trout noted this and attempted a glare, though he was violently interrupted by forceful claps to his back, shoulder, and head, as well as the incessant hooting that seemed to be piped directly into his ear.

“The moon is quite good tonight,” Gudmund shouted, “And your speech instilled such spirit in our hearts that I believe many of us would like to begin the ritual soon. It is actually a good thing you made mention of it, because if this had gone on much longer we would have surely passed out and forgotten!”

The Vikings in earshot gave a good-natured chuckle at this. Trout promptly shifted his glare back to Jnii.

“Yes. Beurel is most eager,” Jnii picked up, “Though a little nervous, perhaps, because of it. He speaks of your ways like his life might be in some danger… as if there were people that would actually subject their young to… life… threatening…”

Jnii’s words drifted away as she noticed the nearby Vikings begin to quiet, glancing at each other uncomfortably. Trout tightened his lips and looked towards the heavens as if asking for something. Leif coughed.

“You should go find your friend,” Gudmund eventually spoke, “Return here with him and we shall already be prepared to begin.”

Ivan sat with Gareth and Euphrasia by the fire for some time, unusually still. He had overheard from the Vikings only snippets of detail regarding his fate for the evening, and those were more than enough to put a hollow feeling in his gut that could not be filled. Lost somewhere in that feeling, he sat near the Lady and tried to muster up the courage to tell her about Oliphant and the scenario that had separated him from their party. He thought that the fact that he might die soon would make it easier, give him nothing to lose, but it actually made it far more difficult. He knew Euphrasia was mad with him, but he almost preferred to leave it at that rather than risk upsetting her more. In this way she might actually still feel bad were he to die, whereas if he told her, she would surely look upon his death as a blessing. He struggled for some sort of conversation that might provide a clever segue, but Ivan knew he was not terribly gifted with such skills.

“Braggin’s dead,” Ivan affirmed.

Euphrasia nearly jumped out of her chair at the crack in silence. Gareth, lying on the other side of the flames with his head draped over his paws, peeked his eyes open.

“That’s… good, Ivan,” she eventually responded.

“He had my leg,” Ivan continued, “Almost took me to the bottom of the Velais with him. I don’t know what happened to Ourood.”

“Well… I am glad you managed to get away.”

“Me too.”

Euphrasia never thought she would feel so relieved to have Beurel approach. The wiry young bard briskly walked into the meeting hall, mumbled something as he grabbed Ivan by his collar, dragged the lad to his feet, and then took him right back outside. The Lady’s brows furrowed together and the sense of satisfaction she had over Beurel’s presence diminished rapidly.

“What do you suppose that was about?” she asked.

Gareth grunted.

“But we’re on an island.”

“An island with boats!” Trout asserted.

“But all the boats are sitting on the dock next to a small army of drunk Vikings!”

Trout had retreated with Ivan to some bushes on the outskirts of the village, from which they could only faintly hear the peals of laughter and general screaming that flowed from the water’s edge.

“… do you remember hearing anything about the size of the island?” Trout pressed on.

“No.”

“Maybe there’s another village somewhere. I mean, this is a nice island, right? Surely there’s some more people around?”

“It didn’t look very big from out on the water.”

“The sun was starting to go down then,” Trout nodded thoughtfully, “That sort of thing can play tricks on your eyes when you’re out at sea.”

“… what?”

“Wait! No no no! Even better!” Trout brought up his hands to indicate a need for silence, staring into space, “What if… what if we just had Dool or Euphy conjure up something to get us through the ritual?”

“I already asked them,” Ivan sighed.

“… you did?”

“You were right there when I did it.”

“What did they say?”

“Euphy said I had to accept responsibility for my actions and Gareth ignored me.”

“A likely story. That’s okay,” Trout nodded, “Quite good, actually. You have them thinking about it… turning it over in their minds. Now if I were to come along and persuade them we might stand better odds.”

“You think so?”

“Absolutely,” Trout smiled, pausing a moment, “Just to be safe… do you have anything we can bargain with? Anything at all? A coin you picked up? Some sort of secret?”

“… I have some stuff, yeah.”

Trout had presented the question mostly out of a desire to cover all the bases. There were certain procedures and rules to any situation, after all, and since he had need for them so frequently they had managed to instinctively ingrain themselves into his behavior. He was actually slightly startled at the response, looking Ivan over as Gudmund had done not long ago, as if seeing him for the first time.

“Stuff…?” Trout asked.

“You know, some items,” Ivan replied, “Trinkets and things.”

“… things? Look, boy, I am sitting in front of you right now and I can see quite plainly that you have nothing more than what you had when we first met. Which was nothing. So if you think you can lie to me-”

“I’m not lying!”

“Then where is it?”

“It’s dangling off the back of the Viking’s ship.”

Trout froze.

“I had tied the knot earlier, on the other side of the boat. When they were all distracted with the sail I grabbed up their things and tied the other end to the sack, threw the rope in the water… I think they were too angry to notice it since it’s wasn’t really near where I was standing. And I don’t really know how to get to it, and they might kill me because they think it’s all at the bottom of the sea… but it’s actually there and they don’t know it. I tried to grab the shiniest things so there might be something in there worth bartering. Though Gareth and Euphy seem to have plenty of stuff back at their places, so they may not want anything. I don’t know… what do you think?”

~Peace