Down below, Rohaan only let go of Hana's shirt once he'd been set down on the bed and saw that she was going to sit beside him. He couldn't tell if he wanted to be alone or not. On The beach? No. But here, in his home, he felt a little bit like running and hiding. That had always been his fallback. When the Borealis first acquired him, it was not uncommon for someone to go down into the dark hold in search of something, only to hear a low, ominous growl from somewhere in the gloom and turn straight around without coming what they came for. But at the same time, he was recalling now the feelings of being truly alone, and they horrified him. The Barizian ship had been a nightmare where he constantly feared for his life as he watched other children die. Babies. Older kids. Ones his age that he used to go dive underwater with, crack open coconuts with, learn to hunt with. And like his parents, he watched them die. Some by cruelty and neglect, others...others would be plucked from the pile (he distinctly remembered an actual pile of bodies, some living, some dead) and dragged above deck. They never came back and sometimes he would see silvery blood on the hands of his captors. The troublesome ones, he learned very quickly, got shackled with enchanted steel, and though he'd never felt its sting, he knew what it was and what it did. For once in his life, Rohaan had been docile, compliant, and quiet. He had to be, he knew, if escaping was going to work. He did not know how long it took for him to find an opening. But when he did, he was battered, his wrist was broken, he had infected cuts or scrapes, and he was horribly malnourished. Moving was difficult, crawling across the others towards the one opening. Shifting was only possible by force of will. When he'd hit the water he had no idea where he was. He could see the suggestion of land somewhere in the distance, but he couldn't make out whether or not it was home. He doubted it. Though he didn't know how far they came, he knew the air and the water was colder there, and it was not the crystal blue he had always known. When he did make it to land, he realized he had never been in the presence of humans before, though he was well aware that they did not like his kind. Though he knew, he did not understand, and that understanding came to him the hard way. He remembered curling up in an empty barrel in a dirty alley, shivering in the newfound chill that he had never truly experienced, weak, pained, and hungry. And so, so alone. On the bed, Rohaan clambered to the far side, the one corner against the wall, and drew his little body in like he was trying to make room. He was not shying away from her specifically, but he liked the security that corners offered. Rohaan snatched up the blanket, too, practically burrowing underneath it as he clutched the fabric in tight hands. His blue eyes, now glossy with tears, looked up at her as she spoke. He didn't understand what she was talking about--places and languages he did not know existed. But the idea of a story seemed at least sort of appealing. Anything that would let him forget again, even if just for a moment. She read on, and page by page, his shuddering breaths began to soften into something more controlled as he sniffled. The language was more advanced than he usually used himself, and he was forced to spend time thinking about the various words and what their translations might be in his own language. Hanabaptiste came to one word after a while that he did not know and couldn't guess from context, so his small, quiet voice asked, "what's that word mean?" After the first time, he began to ask more questions, mostly about language but occasionally about the story itself, and they became slowly less quiet and shy. Even his body posture began to relax, and instead of having a death-grip on the blanket wrapped around his tight ball, he had his legs semi-outstretched and his toes peeking out from under it, fingers fiddling with a loose thread. --- Berlin sighed. He wanted to say that he had very little idea of how to go about it, but he was the Captain, and if he could even pretend to be collected, he would. The man thought--or tried to. His mind was pulled in multiple different directions all at once. "Well..." he said at last, "We know which direction they're headed. And assuming they don't drastically change course, we'll take them soon enough. The Borealis is fast, but with Hanabaptiste giving us strong, favorable winds, I fail to see how we can be outrun. I'd like you to keep an open eye for them." And by that, he meant that if the curse pulled at him in such a way as to let him know bloodshed was near at hand, Berlin wanted to know. He thought also that he could send Rohaan on patrols every so often to cover more ground from above, but after what he saw on the beach, he wasn't so sure that was a good idea. The two returned, and before long the crew had the ship fully afloat again and shooting off in the direction they'd last seen the galley go. With the ship underway and the crew busy, Berlin went down below to see how his young charge was holding up. He was preparing himself for another hurricane when he saw Rohaan and Hana seated on her bed, the woman with a large book in her hands as Rohaan watched her lips move intently. Both were in one piece. Berlin let out a huge sigh. "Berlin!" The boy exclaimed, leaping out of the bed to anchor himself to Berlin's side once more. The big man went to one knee, drawing him in. Rohaan never wanted anything more in his whole life, it seemed. "Hey. How are you?" The question was gentle but deeply sincere. Rohaan just nodded. "Hana is reading a book out loud." A pause, and then, "Are you mad at me?" Berlin blinked, taken aback. "Mad at you? No! Why would I--" He followed Rohaan's gaze to the red-stained rips in his white shirt and the lacerated skin beneath. "No," he said, understanding. "We talked about this. You didn't mean it, and frankly I've had a lot worse. This doesn't really even need bandaging--a little cleaning, maybe a balm, I'll be good as new." Growing more serious, Berlin brushed the boy's wild hair back with a stroke of his hand. "I would like to talk with you later. Not now--I think you could squeeze in another few pages with Hana if you want to. But if you're willing, I want to talk to you about what happened. I want to understand, Rheoaan," he said softly. Rohaan looked at the floor, at his dirty toes. He didn't want to talk about it, not really. But he could see Berlin wanted to know. Wanted to understand. That was something Rohaan appreciated about the man--even though they were so different, and Rohaan's way of life was so foreign to him, the man only ever wanted to understand. Hesitantly, the boy nodded. "Good lad." He stood, giving Hanabaptiste a silent glance that said everything. [I]Thank you.[/I] "Hanabaptiste, when you two are finished, I would like it if you could draw up another wind for us. We'll see to it they can't outrun us." With that, he returned to the deck, letting out a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding. He needed a drink.