Moonspear the day she walked away

The man was nice enough. So was the woman, who spoke only a little but with the weight of great authority behind each word. Seastorm could not help but wonder if their kindness had already betrayed them before — and how many more times they would suffer it before they grew cold.

This time, though, the snake they plucked out of the grass was only a little one, little and wounded and lonely.

It's been many weeks, Seastorm told the man quietly. The pain has been bad for maybe two weeks. I feel tired often. Always, truthfully, but she softened the words for Catamaran's sake. When the woman asked her name, Seastorm's eyes flicked briefly back to the bounty hunter, but she answered quickly: My name is Seastorm.