Stavanger Bay and twisted preservatives of life

a wild wild slammed her outstretched muzzle and she tucked her head from the gale, eyes settling on a form half obscured in the heavy snow. even from the distance she knew the perpetrator: rosalyn.

sandpiper had not had a magical change of heart about the newly anointed first mate, but had managed to stow enough of her bitterness away that she strode purposely towards her with her posture bereft of any antagonism. she recalled once how rosalyn had attempted to offer an olive branch in the form of critique on her sparring ability: perhaps she could put this woman's skills to good use, and sharpen her own abilities to the point where she would not lose again.

the devious machinations she devised were not apparent in her gaze as she hailed rosalyn. "hey! where are you going?"