Totoka River We'll be sailing,

Again with the bits and pieces, the smattering of a language he had a rudimentary grasp of but had never picked up entirely—doubtful, he thought, that he ever would. He understood the tone, the bristling bout of body language that played like a symphony, and a thin, tooth glimmer of an ugly smile broke onto his face.

Leave, he knew that word. Leave, go, begone; all of them the same thing and often said in the same warning tone in anger. He chuckled then and it too was an ugly sounding thing. She had spunk, thought so highly of herself, and he wondered just how far she was willing to take things.

“No,” he told her as his chuckling came to a sharp end.