Barrow Fields fire and life incarnate

Rosalyn was not sure how she felt about this new order; she knew on arrival (though he had not told her on joining) that to leave meant death.  But to her, death would only be a result of returning.  Instead, Smokestep and Sandpiper seemed intent on hunting down those who departed, wasting time and energy (in her opinion) on members who obviously no longer wished to be a part of the crew.

And good riddance?  She huffed, trotting through the trees at the edge of the field.  Why look to chain unwilling members with threats of death anyway?  A crew should be there because they wanted to be, and forcing a pirate to a life they didn't seek had never held well with her.  Felt too damn much like her old cap, devil keep his soul.

This wasn't a conversation she much wanted to have with Smokestep, not yet at least.  They had just formed a tentative sort of peace and she wasn't about to screw that up with more questioning.  But neither was she taking part in their drive for blood.  As she approached the center of the meadow, she spotted a figure, and her heart skipped anxiously when she thought perhaps it was one of those she'd met last time.  But no, she breathed a sigh of relief when she distinguished the slighter form.  Not Drageda.