Thomas’ eyes closed at the touch of the warm cloth against his face, and a tight lipped smile accompanied the expression. 

“It is something indeed,” Thomas said. “Lightfoot was a man whose opinion was made quickly, and finally in most cases,” Thomas scoffed at the memory of the man, “so I would warrant his approval as a success.”

Opening his copper eyes, Thomas looked to Antonia and smiled more fully. The cast of the firelight upon her caramel-brown skin was beautiful, and the curls of ebony that framed her face gave the rogue a strangely angelic quality that made Thomas want to reach out and touch her. As Antonia reached to his face with the cloth once more, he gently stopped her, and withdrew the cloth from the rogue’s hand.

“As for the consequences of Lightfoot’s disapproval, well…” Thomas stood and stepped to the cauldron of hot water. For several moments Thomas washed the rag clean as best he could in a small basin of cool water, before wetting it with the water from the cauldron. He moved back to Antonia and resumed his seat. With the same careful touch that his love had granted him, Thomas reached upward to clean the angelic face seated before him.

“…If Lightfoot had expressed condemnation over our match,” Thomas said, completing his thought at last. “The man on the island, lost soul or not, would have received a beating worthy of such attentions.”

For several more long moments, Thomas continued his ministrations with a pleasant glean to his face as he wiped the layers of dried blood from Antonia’s countenance. The pleasant thoughts of Lightfoot, and the warming quality of speaking of his love only buoyed him from the present only so long however, and soon his features once again began to darken. 

“We’ve lost so many,” he began suddenly. “We won’t be sure of the numbers until we have a count, once the storm has passed, but I fear the [i]Dusk Skate[/i] may be dangerously undermanned.”

Thomas’ dark confrontation of his ship’s fate was swiftly diverted by the thud of the galley’s wooden door, and the abrupt entrance of Jax. Beneath his arm, slung like a sack of grain, was the boy Luc. Despite his grim disposition, the sight brought a smirk to Thomas’ face.

“Hello gentlemen,” Thomas said, standing slowly. “I’m glad you dropped him by, Jax. We’ll certainly take the lad.”

Thomas shuffled towards where the barrels of hard biscuit and jerky were stored, as Jax bent to speak to Luc. Taking a wooden bowl, the captain began to place a small portion of the dried food inside. His ears listened intently to Jax’s words as he worked however, and as Thomas filled a small earthen mug from a cask of drinking water, he nodded in agreement to Jax’s words.

“Captains especially.” Thomas said, speaking to the harsh existence of the nightmares they all shared. Looking up from his work to the dark eyes of the boy, he continued, “Come on m’boy, try to eat something, and share a spot near the fire. It’s not delicious fare, but a filled belly is a blessing in its own right.”

Luc moved to the pair of his aunt and the captain, looking back over his shoulder to the helmsman’s wink and gesture of encouragement. 

Thomas moved his eyes to the helmsman, and gave the man a smile and a nod that spoke to his thanks for watching over the boy. “We’ll have work to do soon enough, Jax. Storm or no, we can only drift for so long before we must get the men aloft, and get the [i]Skate[/i] righted proper-like. I’ll call on your skill shortly, my friend.”

With that, Thomas watched the man leave the way he had come. His eyes lingered momentarily upon the darkened doorway of the galley before he turned his attention to Luc, and handed the boy the bowl of food he had just prepared.