Uban gave an uncharacteristically icy stare after Wheel. It wasn’t the slight itself that made him scowl—he WAS a farmer and had only been at this for about five years. He wasn’t going to pretend he was the most experienced sailor in the world, or even a warrior. It was the man’s attitude that soured him. Not that Wheel was ever friendly. But if there really was something so awful about the Barizians beyond a taste for violence and a fierce tenacity, then he could have at least answered the question and filled him in. Uban was good in combat. Not exactly traditional, but good in his own way. What were they up against if that wasn’t enough?

He was about to growl something back at him over the woody creaking and the wind, but even before he drew breath he saw Wheel howl at Rohaan in rage. He didn’t need to see to know what happened, and with a sense of smug satisfaction, he laughed out of sight of the berserker. 

The boot sailed through the air with all the force of a cannon ball and in order to dodge it, Rohaan rolled over the edge of his perch and dropped, allowing at least 10 feet of freefall before shifting to a hawk and snapping his wings out, sweeping up on a draft and climbing high above even the top of the main mast, where he circled slowly.

The boot collided with the sturdy boards of the Nest with a very serious crack, sending splinters of wood that had burst off the surface of two of the planks showering down. The hardy board stayed true despite this, but it rattled the mast all the way down so they could feel the thud at their feet. If Rohaan wasn’t so quick to dodge, and it had his his head, then the boy would have been knocked unconscious quite badly, and then for the first time his falling from the rigging would actually be a problem.

Berlin, who had just taken his first sip from his mug since coming back, cringed at the whole scene and thought halfheartedly about reprimanding Wheel, when he realized Rohaan had deserved it. As long as it didn’t escalate, he was too tired to pursue it further and simply let it go with a very put-upon grunt and a nonplussed glance to Pieter beside him, who had just been telling him about the need for a training session—a sentiment he wholly agreed with.

Uban sighed. “You know that only makes it worse....he’s looking to get a reaction out of you. It’s why you’re always his target—you always rise to the occasion. Trust me, I had brothers.”  And though he thought Wheel deserved it, he knew that kind of behavior from the boy would cause trouble. And, seeing as how Berlin was ‘busy’, it fell to him to deal with. Unless it was a matter of command, in which case Pieter would be the first to step in, Uban usually was the one that dealt with Rohaan when Berlin was either gone or occupied. Being the token friendly one of the crew, Rohaan had warmed up to him easier than the rest and therefore had a better rapport. 

Uban gave a long, sharp whistle, calling the hawk down to him. When the hawk changed to the scrubby troublemaker, he said in as authoritative a tone he could muster, “oi, cut that out, or Berlin will have at you. Belay that, I’LL have at you.” Uban reached his hand out so that it hovered over Rohaan’s head and, as a soft crackle sounded in the air, he made Rohaan’s wild hair stand up on end like a warning of what he could do to him. But he could see the way Rohaan’s eyes never met his, and he fidgeted where he stood in a way that wasn’t like him, like a war horse pawing at the turf on a slow morning. Uban sighed. He knew this mood. He’d seen it before. It was like anxiety, though instead of drinking or pacing, it manifested in the kid as impish malice. “Look, instead of being an ass, why don’t you go make a round and see if you can spot a nice little sandbar or island or something. We’re gonna do some combat training before we get into this. Give my sorry ass a heading, would you?”
Rohaan nodded, unconsciously grateful for something to do that would expend lots of energy. He bounded away towards the railing, but he stopped halfway with a thoughtful expression and pivoted on his heel towards—[I]Oh no…[/I]

Uban’s stomach lurched as the boy went straight for Wheel. They were easily the two most volatile members of the crew and if a fight broke out between them, Uban was hopelessly outclassed. But all he wanted was to give Pieter and Berlin a moment to themselves—a moment much needed. He couldn’t fail them now. Uban made a move to intercept, but hesitated at the scene before him, which was not what he expected. 

“Wheeeeeeel….” Rohaan tugged on the back of Wheel’s shirt, already on the balls of his feet in case he needed to dance away from a powerful swipe. But before the man could actually strike him, he blurted out with the kind of breathless urgency that only kids have when they get excited about something, “When we stop, can you teach me how to fight with a knife? [I]Keva’tiiiiiiiiii….?[/I]” This was a word that even those who did not speak Vokurian could recognize as ‘please’. “Berlin won’t teach me because he thinks I’ll hurt someone with it, y’know, ‘cause I’m kinda wild and stuff. But, but,’ he continued as he shifted his weight between his two bare feet anxiously, knowing it was very likely he’d get a hard ‘no’. “I can’t hurt you with it and besides, I’m good at…at….” He looked at his hands. He had no idea what the Carisian term for ‘spatial awareness’ was, so he spat out at a loss, “[I]Irah-tena’aisi’e![/I]” And tried again. “I’m good…with…like with my hands and stuff.  I’m…cord….c-cordated?” He meant ‘coordinated’, but that was as close as he would get. “We can do some like really advanced flying stuff!” He offered in return. “Like catching you in midair or something! C’mon whaddya say? [I]Keva’ti?[/I]” His enthusiasm was so exuberant it was nearly explosive, and it was hard to imagine, looking at the lad, that he’d been antagonizing Wheel just moments before.