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[i]The North Wind[/i] was really something to behold, especially to a twenty-something monk who had only really studied such vessels on the pages of weathered books. Yes, a ship as grand as this felt unknowingly fake to Deimos, especially for their first few days aboard its decks. They had wandered from bow to stern over and over again on the first day, watching the clouds around them shift and melt as they strode confidently on the sailing winds to the next few islands. Something about traveling in such a majestic boat made Deimos feel a bit powerful. They could taste a thousand different winds and, when they stared up at the sky at night, they could trace galaxies to the distant horizons. The world was at their fingertips, and all because some Western lady found Deimos' skills useful. 

Deimos thanked their God one million times that night, whispering grateful songs until they eventually fell asleep among the piles of scrolls and books they had laid out as nightly reading.

And so here they were, hiding in the crow's nest and admiring the majesty that was [i]The North Wind[/i]. Above them clouds fluttered, glistening white against an afternoon sky, and below them the captain was preparing to let the rest of the crew on board. Of course, the thought of even talking to new people, let alone now sharing a room with half of them, sent anxiety crawling across their skin. Deimos preferred the solitude that came from hiding up at the very top of the ship. Here they could read and write with only the gulls and the wind to keep them company, and it was far easier to scope out their new maps thanks to the fantastic view this spot gave.

Still, Deimos knew of this spot's real job. They were far from a look out, and did not possess a voice loud enough to even travel down a hall let alone back down to the deck of the ship from this point. Deimos was content with giving up the crow's nest eventually, but for right now they would hide and observe. Below, people had begun to gather at the other end of the gangplank, and Cap'n Zeph was greeting them all as he had greeted Deimos and the First Mate before: confidently. Such a characteristic drew Deimos fruitlessly to follow Zephyr's every word, and they found inspiration in the captain's very steps. They had even dedicated a few pages to doodling Zeph's likeness into their journal, along with a few other sketches of the bare crew they had traveled with after Baleine.

Just as they were getting ready to pull out their journal, however, the softest of darkness swallowed the sun, and a sudden rain storm manifested. Deimos worked quickly to shove all their open maps and books back into their small bag, glaring up at the weeping sky with something akin to half-hearted distaste. Such a dark expression melted away, though, as Deimos imagine what effort it took for this rain just to materialize. Everything has a purpose. Everything has a place. Right now, this rain's purpose was to fall, and it's place was above their wonderful ship.

The sudden gusts of wind, however, were not exactly ideal, even if they were doing as fate requested.

Deimos cowered against the storm and thought, briefly, of descending down onto the deck. Bracing a storm seemed better than bracing for conversations, however. Besides, the rain was warm enough to be pleasant. Distant memories of training beneath freezing waterfalls steel Deimos' mind enough for them to curl up against the mast of the ship, defending their books from the onslaught of soaking rain that threatened their delicate pages.

Silently, they decided they will head down in exactly thirty minutes if the rain does not let up. Deimos knew, however, that their anxiety was prepared to hold out until nightfall if it had to. And such was life. 

That was Deimos' purpose, and their place.