Hana shaded her eyes as she watched the cyradian glide into an easy landing. She was almost finished readying the muskets and pistols, when the fighting came, there would be no wait. Rio was speaking quickly, his eyes darting between Berlin, Pieter, and back towards the sky, where the dark smudge was growing bigger by the second. Hana was too far away to hear most of what he was saying, but she gathered that he’d made contact with the people on the back of the dragon. The word ‘dead’ reached her, and dread stirred the hairs on her neck. What was up there? Already, she had seen such incredible, terrible things. What could shake these people? Then, the boy became a tentacled woman, and Hana gasped. --- Wheel struggled mightily to look like he was doing fine. Slowly carrying pails of sand to various parts of the ship, the curse went wild. His emotions leapt from ecstasy to despair, and he stumbled when half of his body went ice cold and the other burning hot. The bucket almost tipped over, and he roughly set it down, panting. He had more important tasks to finish, if he thought the dragon was going to breath fire, what would pails of sand do? He didn’t move, just stood there, trying to take deep breaths so he could get some air in him. Standing in the hallway, he could hear the cyradan’s leathery wingflap over the crashing waves and creaking sails. The boy’s footsteps were a hard patter, Pieter walked with confidence, though he sometimes favored his left leg. Berlin walked with more grace than his heavy tread let on. Hana’s fast gait gave her away, and Uban never stopped walking like a farmer. He leaned against the bulkhead as tiredness stole through him. Lethargy dulled his awareness, and his head grew heavy and began to sink. He rested his eyes, plotting, desperate to wake up. The most he could do was keep himself upright, fighting the urge to lie down and sleep. He didn’t know what would happen if he did, so he forced himself to stand. He couldn’t say how long he stayed trapped in the exhaustion. It could have been minutes, it could have been a half hour. With what felt like a crack, a burning alertness drove him up the stairs to the deck. It felt like a cheap second wind, but if that’s all the curse wanted to give him, he’d take it. It was only when he was squinting into the bright sky and he watched the dragon glide towards them did he have the sinking feeling that he’d walked into a trap. --- The dragon was in eyesight before long, the long, snakelike body undulating with the steady beat of massive wings. By the time it was with cannon range, it had begun to circle high above the Borealis. A keen observer with a spyglass would have seen the riders standing at the head and looking at the ship below. The caravel wasn’t judged as a threat, and after wheeling away to gain some distance, angled down towards the water. The dragon’s wings were spread to slow its descent, and sunlight shone through the vellum wings, dark veins standing out like ink. Its forelegs were flexed and the claws lifted as it neared the water. The three riders crouched low on the back, bracing before it touched the water. It was big, though not on the same scale as the turtle. Before reaching the water, it folded its wings against its sides and struck a landing as gently as it could. Avoiding what could have been a very large splash, the dragon began to sinuously twist its long body, swimming along the surface of the water. It closed the distance between the caravel, and the three riders were standing at the head, with the tentacled woman waving. --- And he saw her. Millie. --- “Permission to board?” She called to the pirates.