Hana walked up the stairs, carrying a stack of muskets like firewood. Dropping the muskets onto a tarp tacked to the deck, she massaged the knot in her shoulders and looked around the [i]Borealis.[/i]

Wheel was readying the guns Hana had brought up previously. Although he was busy cleaning and loading the muskets, there was a stillness that surrounded him, and Hana was reminded of the priests who dragged sticks in the sand, creating meaning out of the world around them. She had already reached the armory before she wondered what meaning a gun would bring. 

---
Getting closer, Rio could see that the dragon was far from anything he'd seen before. A thick, waxy hide dully glinted in the sun. What had seemed like whiskers were arms. Human arms, all of the same size and shape, the same jaundiced yellow of the dragon. Some dangled limply, others held lines of rope or tack. The dragon flew dumbly, moving through the air than with it. 

Tents were strapped to the back, along with cases of supplies. Wheel would have said it looked like a supply wagon far from home.

It was only after the small dragon screeched did the riders notice him. They were bundled in thick sheepskin to protect against the biting cold, but that didn't stop one of the riders from moving quickly. They surged across the back of the dragon, running while the dragon bobbed up and down in it's flight. They returned with a gun capable of killing an elephant. The rider didn't fire, but kept steady aim on the cyradan. 

The galley let off a hail of gunfire when they saw the cyradan, and the oars began to beat faster. The crew below had a mercenary look to them. The ship might fly a Barizian flag, but the hired killers came from all over. 

The dragon lifted in altitude, trying to lose the smaller dragon through height. The rider with the gun ran across the dragon and fell over the side. Swinging somehow beneath the belly of the dragon, the rider keeps their bead on Rio.