Moonspear the day she walked away

Their journey had revived her some, in the beginning; now Seastorm was wearied, weakening further. She thought often of their destination, if only for the approaching opportunity to rest. The assassin had never felt so fondly toward the thought of sleeping as she did now.

Whenever she felt Catamaran's eyes on her, though, she straightened a bit. Held herself a little more stiffly. The more he worried for her, the further he seemed to drift away, and Seastorm was beginning to loathe any distance between them. For as much as the bounty hunter had taken from her, he'd given her more to fill the empty space; things she'd never imagined for herself. The affront of her lack of choice in the matter was quickly fading to a background note.

Did it matter? Things were better than they'd been. This was better. This was the best it would ever get.

Seastorm preened a bit at her flaxen ruff while the bounty hunter studied her. She gave no indication that she'd registered his call or the fact that they would soon have company. Under Catamaran's gaze, she was the main event worth watching — and she preferred it that way.