Dragoncrest Cliffs First thing I did was climb in to a rum bottle.

"aye. she," the harlot smiled. "de sailors, ones who have always lived an' died by de whims of de sea: we call her fickle. we call her fair. like a mot'er she gives an' gives of herself. endless bounty for de takin'. an' like a woman she cannot be held, an' t'ose who seek to pin her receive a lesson in her wrath."
grief and reverence passing over the spice-hue face.
"have you not heard talk of de ocean as a woman, raimo?" erzulie asked, a foray into the unsaid beneath the coat of their new hunter.