No? What? Hey! Who in all the hells said she could be sad?! 

Whoever it was, Han’d have [i]words[/i] with them in a minute. Right now, she was busy pressing herself up against the wood of the cabin wall, hardly daring to breathe lest she topple over the delicate little thing hunching over and across her. A whisper of silk brushed her bare shoulder, but all she knew was a touch so faint and light - the tufted flower of a long reed, reaching out in passing - and lingering, a ghost of sensation. A rainy-day garden had sent its regards. Now, it embraced her. Richness and sweetness and the promise of life, life abundant and thriving in defiance of clouds!

The priestess drew back. Her gifts, she left behind her. Her hand left the simple, wooden umbrella. Han watched it go, across her lap, to the deck, and no. No. No!

And her hand shot out to stop her.

(She’s warm, priestess. The girl is drenched from the rain, and by all rights should be ice cold now, but through the damp her hand is warm over yours. She moved faster than you could see, and yet, her grip isn’t rough. She holds you like...like...like a little brown fox, carrying a Very Important and Precious message in their little jaws. No matter what happens, they will carry their cargo to its destination, and when the time comes they will drop it at the recipient’s feet, and there won’t be a scratch on it. A grip tight enough to hold you, and gentle enough to let you go safely, should you choose.)

“...you’ve done more than everybody on this boat put together.” The words are curt. Forceful. [i]Important.[/i] And definitely not forced out as soon as they enter her head. “And you shouldn’t get soaked and miserable because of me.” Her gaze falls away from the priestess, contemplating the rushing waters, the dry deck surrounding them, the sight of her crestfallen face that she couldn’t bear to look at even a moment longer, the sound of the rain. And thus was the product of her musings: “Traveling’s better with company.” Lots of people said that. All the time. Including her. So. Maybe you should say it too? And stay?

The priestess did stay. And stay. And stay some more, without ever actually sitting back down. Which was, in hindsight, a perfectly reasonable response to the sight of a long, red, angry gash on a girl’s arm that she had been successfully hiding beneath her poncho. But perhaps if she’d gotten over her shock a little bit quicker, Han might have had enough attention to spare to the hair on her neck, standing on end, or the sudden absence of the oxen’s tread...

[Han rolls a big ‘ol [b]6[/b] on Entice. XP abounds!]