Berlin laughed. "Mermaids, eh?" There was a twinge of jealousy, or perhaps peaked interest in his tone, but Berlin knew better than to waltz into the company of mermaids unawares or unprepared. They were dangerous creatures--beautiful beyond words, he knew, but he was a smart man. He knew of too many sailors who'd met their end that way. "Just don't break my bard," he teased. "I like that one as he is--un cracked." More seriously, he continued, "I'm glad you're taking him under your wing though. You need an apprentice just as much as he needs a good role model. It's taken him some time, but he's just now finding his purpose and way in life. I'm glad of it. He's a good lad."

---

Uban watched with childlike delight as Hana performed her own version of his magic. He had never known magic to be something that could be learned or taught, but rather he thought it was like his, or Berlin's: something that came unbidden to a certain few. He had not grown up knowing he was magical, and distantly he wondered where he'd gotten it, as both his parents were as normal as normal could be. It lay sleeping in him for many years until young adulthood when it came alive quite  suddenly and his entire world changed. Though it had been a hard pill to swallow at first, Uban knew deep in his heart that he could never go back, even if he was given the chance. 

Uban's smile was wild and bright, accepting her challenge. He stood apart from her, lowered into  a fighting stance, and focused on the lightning around her. He could feel it. And not just in the smell of hot metal or the way his hair raised a little when he was close. But deep in his bones he could feel the lightning like a thing alive, like a song. He could feel the way it moved, its patterns, its nature. When he'd first seen her call the lightning to her, he thought that he would move quickly to battle her. But this was new. He'd never before been faced with an external source. He had no idea that he could sense it, and instead of reacting he instead took deep, slow breaths with his eyes closed to further feel the element as though he stuck unseen hands into it. Since this was new to him, he would try something new.

Uban put out his hands and if for no other reason than to focus his mind and his energy, he said clearly and commandingly, "Come."

And it obeyed.

The lightning swarmed around Hana like obedient bees for a second, then gathering, it moved to his hands instead. He held it there like a roiling ball before letting it swim around his body like an armor of volatile light. The lightning was not his, he did not create it, but yet it obeyed his command. The feeling was exhilarating. He opened his eyes and they'd gone from their usual green to hot gold; he had the look and air of a man swept away by a powerfully euphoric drug. He moved it to his hands again, the light from it nearly blinding as it moved and writhed. This was more power than he'd ever held before and he knew it. Uban reached out with his senses, feeling Hana standing there. With the magical markings still drawn on her face, he could feel her, find her like true lightning finds a weathervane. The markings made her feel like the metal knife did in his own hand. He was connected to her like he was the knife. Like a stone, he threw the ball of electricity at her; it splashed over her like waves on the shore before it spread around her like it had before.

Uban's laugh was a mad cackle of delight. He'd never done that before. He had never made it leave his own hand. He took it back again, recalling it like a faithful dog and asked, "Can you make more? Let's see how much I can handle from an external source...and for that matter, can you move it to me like I did? Try! Try!" He was more excited than a child on summer's eve and it showed.

--
 

"So you think that you're better than learning how to hunt like a man? You think that because you can turn into a coyote and bite the head off a rabbit you're above the bow?"

Rohaan looked up at Wheel with a flat, deadly serious expression and spat, "YES." And he meant it. Wheel did not understand the ways of shifters, of his culture. He did not understand what it meant to have the world of beasts at his command, being confined to one single form (a miserable lot in life, Rohaan thought). To use a tool for something he could do naturally was like taking a  step backwards and he could not understand why Wheel thought this was so important. Learning to fight with a bow, for the sake of combat, was like learning to fight with a gun. It was good to know your enemy. And even then, bows were different. He could defend against a bow--dragon skin was highly resistant to such light projectiles, unlike an iron ball. But hunting was not combat and Rohaan failed to see the connection between the two. If he was in a better mood, he might have then asked Wheel to teach him to fight with a bow instead of hunt with it, and that that would be more use to him. But he was not in a better mood.

Wheel kept speaking, and as he turned and tossed the bow at him, something he said had hit a nerve and Rohaan suddenly exploded with anger. He rose to his feet, bristling, and began yelling. "You don't think I know that!? You don't think I know I will be hunted my whole life? What do you know of being hunted? What do you know of your own death? I know better than you ever could, Cursed One. DO NOT tell ME of death! Of being hunted!"

It was then, when Rohaan started spewing curses at him in Vokurian that Berlin tuned in and realized what was happening. His worst fear seemed about to come true and he abandoned Pieter in the blink of an eye, heading for the boy at a dead run. Wheel was walking away, but he could see Rohaan's posture, the look in his eyes. Berlin was very well acquainted with that look. It always preceded blood. Berlin skidded to a stop, sending sand flying as he grabbed hold of Rohaan's arm with a firm grip at the precise moment that Rohaan had taken a step forward towards Wheel. And in that moment the cool, composed, easygoing captain they all knew gave way to pure command and authority that outmatched any naval officer. There was something thunderous in his voice as he commanded, "Rheoaan, enough!"

The boy dropped like a stone in Berlin's grasp. It was as if his words held magical power but indeed it was not his words, nor his voice. It was his touch. Rohaan's whole body went slack and his eyes, once bright with vengeful fire, went glazed and empty in the span of a mere moment. If they hadn't known better, Rohaan looked dead. But Berlin lifted him gently and set him on his feet, and as he let go, life sprang back into the boy's face. Whatever storm was in him a moment ago had been sapped from him, leaving him feeling burnt-out. The boy stepped back, facing Berlin with a look of betrayed horror that made Berlin's stomach twirl. 

The Captain had worked very hard to gain the boy's trust. He had labored and bled for it, and he had succeeded in a way he never thought possible. But part of that trust was the unspoken understanding that though Berlin might influence the boy here and there, most commonly to calm him down, he would never outright control him, not fully. Not like that. And Berlin never meant to, but it that moment he panicked and it came on stronger than he meant it to.

"Berlin...." Rohaan breathed, at a loss for words, looking to all the world like Berlin had just tried to kill him.
"Rheoaan I--" He reached out without thinking to put a comforting hand on his shoulder, but the hand was slapped away hard as Rohaan flinched back. Berlin looked like he'd been stabbed. And as he watched the boy sprint away to the waterline until the ocean was up to his knees before making a diving motion and disappearing with too little a splash under the surface, Berlin knew he'd made a mistake.

The man stood there, looking numbly at his own hands for a moment before he gave a defeated sigh and returned sullenly to his longtime friend. He made no move for the ropes again, just sat down and produced a pipe. He filled it, tamped it, lit it, puffed at it. He needed the ritual. Needed a moment to think. A long draw, a long breath of smoke. Then, "I think I've had enough of ropes for now."