"Tacks and sheets!" Berlin cried in his resonant voice that overpowered the crashing of water against the bow and the whipping of the wind through the crew's ears. He himself was at the helm, matching the pressure against the rudder as his orders were carried out. Aloft, Rohaan, a young boy of ten with wild blonde curls that would never stay in a ponytail, sprang from his little nest in the rigging where he typically slept and kept what little things he owned to grab a rope with small tanned fingers, unhitch it, and pull it towards him with all his strength. When the wind wasn't too strong, he could often pull the ropes by himself as he was, but when it got rougher and he needed more strength, his body would change, morphing larger like an older version of himself in the blink of an eye. This was one of those times, and the suddenly muscular young man had no trouble pulling the rope into position and hitching it in place, then unhitching another rope attached to a corner of one of the lateen sails of the small Caravel he called home. In another instant, the man disappeared and a wiry youth took his place, blue eyes shining brightly in the sparkling sun.

The ship came about, heading back towards the distant land that was only a faint blotch on the horizon. Rohaan hung cavalier from one of the taut ropes aloft, bare toes gripping one line while one hand wrapped around another to steady himself. He was glad it was only early autumn and still warm, as he did not like being up aloft when it was cold (especially since he refused to wear shoes at sea or on land, unless it was snowing or very cold. Like the cold, Rohaan hated shoes, too. He spotted a gray albatross with its huge wingspan gliding further out to sea not far from the Borealis, and, grinning, he simultaneously leapt from the rigging and changed into a much smaller gull, swinging off after the other bird.

"Oi! Rheoaan!" Berlin knew as soon as he called out that it was a futile effort; Rohaan did not even appear to hear him, though he knew the boy had keen ears and most certainly did. "Back to the ship or I'll leave your sorry feathered arse out here!" Berlin got a shrill caw in response, and his brow furrowed. "Damn that boy," he grumbled. Louder, and with a harsher edge, he called, "Rheoaan Rohaan Rio Ja'aisen! Get your arse over here and that's an order!"

That did it. Hearing all three of his given names and his surname being used, Rohaan knew he was in trouble, or at least, he would be if he didn't obey. No one else was allowed to call him by his full name except Berlin, as he was the only one Rohaan felt had earned the right to use the first and longest, Rheoaan, which was usually reserved for immediate family or a spouse in his culture. But in a way, Berlin had become his father, so Rohaan bestowed that honor on him and him alone. Rio was a name he gave to strangers, and Rohaan, which was how all but Berlin knew him, was reserved for friends. It had taken him a long time to explain this at first, particularly since he started out without any knowledge of their language, and they had none of his.

The boy banked, diving back down to the deck at high speed before pulling up a little and changing back into his natural form. The young, wiry blonde touched down in front of Berlin with a soft thud and gave a salute. "Aye, Ca-mm." Unlike the others, who used the abbreviation 'cap'n', Rohaan called him a very distinctly pronounced 'ca-mm', as it was the best he could do when he was first learning the language, and it sort of stuck.
"Get down to the galley and start fixing some grub, boy. I'll call you back up if Uban needs an extra hand aloft."
Rohaan nodded, tight curls bouncing. "Aye Ca-mm!" He released his salute and bounded down below, bare feet slapping the hard wooden deck.

Uban, who had been at the base of the mast securing rigging, climbed deftly up the rope to take his place on Rohaan's little hammock, straddling the fabric like a saddle as he watched the horizon and kept his ears open and tuned to the sound of Berlin's voice. From above, he watched Pieter go about his business, the old salt doing it with the practiced motions of a man who'd done it for years. Uban himself had only been at sea for five years and was completely green when he met Berlin, though that never seemed to have mattered to the sea captain. Uban grew up milking cows and mucking stables, or occasionally helping out the village carpenter with his work when he had the time, so sea life was a strange experience. And yet, as he grew accustomed to the rocking of the ship, which lulled both he and Rohaan to sleep so well, it felt strange to sleep on land, Uban found that he was very comfortable in his new life, and over the years he preferred it to his old one. Besides, here, he had a family. It was not the one he imagined as a young lad, nor was it the one he pictured when he was courting Delorah before he was imprisoned and his life turned upside down. But the crew of the Borealis was his family all the same. On that ship, no one cared that he'd spent time in prison, or that he had a mark to prove it burned into his wrist. No one cared that he'd killed someone by accident. Besides, most, if not all, he guessed, had killed people themselves. Even Rohaan had shed blood, as though he was only a boy, he was a vicious fighter when his life was on the line.

The wind shifted a little and Berlin called for the sails to be trimmed; Uban scurried about the rigging and masts to carry out the orders. He was just finishing when he paused, straightened a little as if to see over some imagined obstacle, then cried out, "Sail, ho!"
Berlin's attention snapped upward. "Can you tell who?"
"Not from this distance," Uban answered, even as he tried to see through a telescoping spyglass. 
"Can you determine their heading?"
"No, Cap'n. Er...well...looks like they might be heading towards us. Either that or away, but since I hadn't seen them earlier, I'll wager they're coming, not going."

Berlin nodded, casually leaving his post at the helm to shout down to the lower deck. "Rheoaan, on deck!"
A moment later, the little shifter, dressed in his usual black trousers that reached just below his knee and a loose fitting white shirt with the collar always hanging open, appeared on the main deck. "Ta," Rohaan said, reverting back to his native tongue for a moment. 
Berlin, who had learned much of the Vokurian language from Rohaan, did not miss a beat. "Ship on the horizon. Check it out for me, will you?"
The boy grinned mischievously. "Is it hostile? Can I light it on fire?"
Berlin sighed. "We don't know."
"If it is, can--"
"No. No burning, not unless I give an order. It's a pitiful thing to destroy a good ship, Rheoaan. I only want information. Do not engage. Do you hear me? That's an order."
"But I wanna take the ca-mm's hat if he's got a fancy one."
"I said no." 
"C'mon, Berlinnnn, I'd swoop in all quick and take it in my talons and they'll just think I'm a regular gull. OH, or a hawk!"
"No," Berlin said sharply. "Gulls don't take hats and we're too far out to sea for there to be a hawk any where nearby. They'll get suspicious. If you get discovered, there'll be real trouble. Now go on, get you gone."
"Aye aye!" The boy changed into a gull once more, pumping his wings a few times before catching an updraft and gliding off towards the approaching ship for a quick flyby.

Not long after, he returned, landing in front of Berlin much the same way he had before. "Soldiers, Ca-mm. Yonin flag, heading right for us."
"Yonin..." Berlin gave a casual nod, looking out onto the horizon as he thought it over. "Last I checked, our little troupe's got a bounty on our heads in Yonin." Instead of looking worried, Berlin grinned. If it was a land encounter, he might be concerned about a host of soldiers heading their way, but at sea, the Borealis was a deceivingly dangerous opponent. Not only were they all we’re capable fighters but Rohaan was capable of single-handedly sinking ships. To attack the Borealis at sea was pure folly, and anyone who attempted was usually held hostage and robbed blind, if not actively counterattacked. The size of their little ship and crew made them a target to other unwary pirates who were not familiar with the name, and any attempts to board or commandeer the ship always backfired. 

Berlin's voice rose, addressing the whole crew. With a grin and a twinkle in his eyes, he instructed, "All hands...prepare to be boarded."