Stavanger Bay let me down so i can fly, fly, fly

She was responsible for some of his grief but the rest was his own doing. He had messed up. He had done so not only by Sandpiper and Smokestep but by the soot and silver female. She was not crew, and he should not care, and he would have told anyone that he did not... but he did. Her upset had cut him worse than any fang. He had not meant to feed her false hope and genuinely believed her to be a Cairn. He was no stranger to being wrong, to making mistakes, but he did not weather his errors well, and he received withering criticism with even less fortitude.

There was a reason — many reasons — he had been a castaway.

His burnt umber eyes moved to the thing Sandpiper had brought with her. He was surprised to see it was one of the beasts they had encountered before. He wondered how she had killed it but that wonder was quickly replaced by dark suspicion. He looked from the crab to her, from her to the crab, and back again. He waited, and waited, for her face to contort into mocking, and for her barbed tongue to stick him with another spine. But none of that came, and his scowl softened into blank weariness.

Raptor shook his sea-soaked coat and scuttled down the rock. He stared sidelong at Sandpiper as he moved to sniff at the crab and inspect the marks her teeth had inflicted upon it.

"I see you found a way to kill one," he murmured.