Hana nodded, saying, "Yes, I have razor and powder in my pocket. Can we sit over there? The bowl is getting to be a little heavy."

Setting the bowl onto a barrel, Hana took the supplies from her pocket and laid them out as she spoke, "All adepts- those who haven't mastered magic- are meant to keep their head shorn. It's meant to be a sign of humility- that by giving up on worldly appearances, they can more honestly pursue knowledge. It's another way to tell mages apart, since masters can grow their hair long and wear it however they like." She paused. The bowl, the mug with soap and brush, and the razor with the horn handle were laid out. 

The water was still cold, though. Normally, she'd had to have boiled water previously, and mixed the hot and cold together until she found a temperature that was suitable for her. Instead, she ran a finger along the lip of the bowl, muttering briefly. A chill settled on Hana and Uban's neck, and steam began to rise from the bowl. 

Sitting cross legged on the ground so Uban could reach her head, she continued, "I doubt I'll ever become a master, but so long as I call myself a mage, I'll continue to shave."

--

Pieter chuckled low at the mention of Cavastan. "Aw hell, lad. Ain't nothing in Cavastan to steal except pine trees and blubber. And I've no interest in stealing the blubber!" He barked a short laugh, thinking about the awful stench.
The captain scowled thoughtfully, and Pieter sat, letting him find what he wanted to say. Pieter listened to the [i]Borealis[/i] instead. She rocked steadily with the waves, and the creaking of her timbers were relaxed sighs, telling him all was well. "To freedom."
Pieter raised his mug, tapping it against Berlins. He drank, and drained his mug. 
"I'll celebrate that every night."