Dawn. Pale sky, wet salt, the kind that clings to feathers.
Rhaenys stays tucked by the folded sail, knees to chest. She smells the deck and the men and goes smaller. Can't blame her. Sweat. Rotten teeth. Never washed cloths. Swaying sea legs. And lot less to care.
I nudge her shoulder with my beak, once, then again. Go.
She shakes her head. Eyes cut to the men at the windlass. Big backs. Loud boots. Worse: smiles. A couple mouths show black gaps and brown stubs.
Yeah. That'd do it.
Still.
Go, I insist. Get water. Get food. You need both to keep breathing. Breathing keeps us alive. Revolutionary thinking, I know.
She crawls out, blinking against the light. Bare feet find the boards, and she stands.
The nearest hands are not kind-looking. Scar knuckles. Black nails. Half a grin gone to rot. Stink rides the wind.
She stops three paces short. I stay high on the mast and watch. If anyone reaches for her, they will know what comes next.
A few sailors notice her and then notice me. It's done. They go still in that old-creature way. Wary first, brave later.
"Awkward," one mutters, a rasp. He scratches his chin and looks anywhere but at her.
Good read, champ.
Captain Garrad steps from the quarterdeck. Not rushing. He stepped between her and the men without a word, set a tin cup on the barrel, and pushes it toward her with two fingers.
"Drink," he says. One word. Calm.
Rhaenys doesn't take it right away. Her eyes flick up the mast. I stay still. Then she reaches with both hands, brings the cup to her lips, and drinks slow.
A sailor with a cracked front tooth, still present, barely eyes the bird on the mast.
"That thing watchin' us," he says. Not a question.
"Aye," another answers. "Let it."
The sound drops away. Only the sail's low hum and rope rubbing wood. She lowers the cup and moves back a step.
A woman built broad in the shoulders, kin to the captain by the look, set a heel of bread on the barrel and walked off. No words. No smile. Just gone.
Rhaenys stares at the bread for a second, later at the woman. She picks it up. Chews. Doesn't choke. Progress.
"Keep yer tin," the woman says at last, voice plain. "Clean it."
That's it. No princess bullshit like the girl used to. No more pampering.
Then a lad not much older than Rhaenys lingers at the pump. He risks a glance up the mast, then at her. "I'm Hobb," he offers, half-swallowed. "Water's here. Don't stand on the boom side. That's all."
"Rae," she says, so quiet it could be wind.
He nods. Back to his little hands.
Men skirt her with the same care they'd use for a live coal. Because of the fear of unknown even though nothing much happened, but not for the child. They look up at me, then down, making a habit of not staring.
I circle once, pushing a light Tailwind along the canvas. Sail catches a nicer breath. Garrad clocking that; I can feel the thought slot into its shelf.
His mouth curves, then flattens. Wonder turns to a little greed. There it is again. Asset, not omen. Fine. Just don't price the girl.
Then.
A man with sea-rot teeth what's left of them wanders too close, curiosity beating good sense by a nose. He gets within arm's length before he feels the heat from my stare. He flinches back. Hands up.
"Easy," he mutters, more to the air than anyone. "Bird's got eyes."
"Good," someone says. "We need some.".
Sailors starts to sound like sailors again. A grumbled curse at a stubborn knot. A laugh that ends quick. Hobb pumps. The man like armed woman swabs. Rhaenys shadows the swab, learning where the dirty water wants to run. She doesn't touch knives. She doesn't step near the capstan. She watches and copies and keeps her back to a post, just a clueless child in the end.
When she passes the quarterdeck, Garrad speaks without looking at her. "Leeward rail if ye must."and dry "Don't fight the wind."
Rhaenys blinks, catches it, nods. Good manners, ship rules. She can hold both.
I keep my rounds tight enough to scorch anyone who forgets how to act. No one forgets. They're sailors. They know storms when they see one, even if it has feathers.
By midmorning, she become the girl with curious gaze. Fear not gone, just layered behind the nature of her age clueless about what's happened behind her, to her home, to her family. She hasn't seen much, a lot to learn about the cursed world and it won't be long.
There she is.
She wipes her mouth with the heel of her hand and sets the cup by the mast foot like it's a small flag. Hobb taps the rim once as he goes by. Not a joke. Just his way of saying Hi.
Garrad follows my circle with his eyes one more time. Calculation set. Wary respect on both sides. That's our shape for now.
Rhaenys breathes. The ship moves. I breathe.
Good enough for one dawn.
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