[center][color=7ea7d8][b][h1][i][b]S[/b] o l i a[/i][/h1][/b][/color][/center]
[right][hr][color=gray][b]Windward Island[/b]
Port Harbor, The Sunken Shephard
[@SunsetWanderer][/color][hr][/right]

Solia had managed to busy herself for a while simply observing the docks. An instinct deep within beckoned for her to abandon her seat and offer help to those few ships struggling to dock. Doubtless a strong arm to hold down ropes would have gone a long way, but in her hesitation, others much closer and likely less-prone to causing panic, stepped forth. 

[i]‘So pleasantly curious, these people,’[/i] Solia thought as she watched them come together. On Maelstrom, the residents had relied mostly on the angels for such tasks, but here and many of the places she’d been over the weeks, these displays of comradery had become common. Together, they did not need help. 

That thought, while at first inspiring, echoed deep within her. 

She was nearly embarrassed when the stranger’s approach caught her off-guard. Solia lacked the faculties to jolt, or yelp, but if she had lungs, she imagined she would have gasped. 

It was a man sat with her. He was, to her approximation, average of age amongst the other divers present, but with a broadness indicative of those borne of the harsh, northern seas. To her he radiated experience, and yet he posed [i]her[/i] a question. 

Solia turned to him and smiled, happy to help.

[color=7ea7d8]“Not this harbor, no.”[/color] Solia spoke with him as she did with everyone, be they man, woman or child. She was gentle, measured, and considered each word. [color=7ea7d8]“And by the size of the dock, and the enthusiasm of the local populace, I assume all of them would agree with you. Many of us have come in response to Windward Island’s request for help. Is that not what brings [i]you[/i] here?”[/color]