Smooth, the grain of the wood against her palm. But when she squeezes it she feels a bite on her skin, sharper and sharper teeth gnawing on her until the pressure of her fist crushes the railing in on itself and the only sensation left is a jagged roughness, and calm.

The wind whips at her magnificent half coat and sets the intricate braid of her hair lashing with the same intensity as her tail. It pulls the heat from her body and slams the driving rain against her body like a trillion tiny arrows. Each of them nothing, but together a torrent of icy stabs that numb the body and dull her wits. The air is full of salt and blood and the special burning tang of ozone; just to breathe it is to taste it, and to taste it is to struggle. The wind howls and pushes the brine down her throat against the pace of her own breathing, choking her with the very air she fills her lungs with. 

Lightning flashes all about her, and the thunder roars after with a booming voice so loud she could not say if she is listening to the storm or the beast. The light is blinding, but it is the only thing to see by. The sound is heavy, and together with the storm it tries to press her to her knees. 

Mosaic stands straight and unbroken against it all. The pounding of her heart means nothing except that she is alive. She is alive, and if that is true it must be for a reason. The burning salt on her skin, the weight of her soaking clothes, the sticking of her sodden fur are only proof of the adrenaline coursing through her veins. 

This is not fear. This is excitement. She flips over the railing to perch atop the prow. Atop her head, a crown flashes like starlight in the darkness. She is the beacon that her ship may steer by, even if the only place for it to go is down. Into the depths of the storm, but not alone! 

Her claws itch where they meet her fingertips. Her fingers curl into fists, squeeze, and relax again on a loop for want of something to hold in them. Her kingdom for a sword, a spear, for anything but the gifts the gods have given her instead. For a hero to fight a monster, a tool is required. And yet.

Her lips pull against the wind into a grim smile. All about her the gale swirls and her clothing billows dramatically even despite how heavy the rain has made it. She watches the water for signs of white foam that mean rocks and coral and bits of other less fortunate ships have left footholds for a crossing. From step to step they lead on, tethered together by silver thread that sets her spine tingling. Thrill. This is not fear, this is excitement. 

Leviathan is not a large enough word for this colossal fish swimming in front of her. All the infinite sea she has traveled across for what feels like half her life would not be enough to swallow it. No planet, as much as the word has any meaning to her, could be enough to even slow it down. The earth must break against its scales and the seas must part in deference to its gravity. Its teeth shimmer like prisms. Rainbows that scythe through cities in a single, swift bite. Its eye larger than her ship, its gaze vast enough to track the movement of the stars and yet so focused that she knows without asking that it has spotted her, specifically. 

She tosses her head back, and she laughs. Mosaic laughs against the howling of the wind, against the shattering of the thunder, against the roiling of the sea that smashes hundred foot waves against her overmatched ship. She laughs like a madwoman, like a girl possessed, and yet it is a clarion call. It is the sound of bravery that lifts up the hearts that listen to it. It is a bark of defiance, screaming to Zeus and Poseidon and Hades alike that they are not the dead, these few, no matter your rage. 

"This is a test!" she cries, "And if it's our last or our first then what's it matter?! It's nothing more than a trial, and those are only given to be overcome! Are you watching, O Gods? We are coming through! We will match our might against you will, and if it please you we are crossing! I have not come this far to turn aside now! I have not brought this many with me to lose them now! I, Mosaic, offer my name to this storm as the proof of our convictions! Take it! And show us what lies beyond the end of everything!"

Her tail twitches. Her muscles coil, ready for a pounce. Her tongue laps at her fangs, and finds them sharp enough to match an Eater of Worlds.

If there is any meaning to the blue in her hair, let it prove itself now. If there is any meaning to the stories others have told her about herself, let them bear fruit now. If she is right, if her heart is true, if she is in face any kind of princess at all (even of a broken and mismatched house, of a patchwork people with nothing else to unite them), then let her show her colors here, or never again. 

Because here in front of her, at last, is a vessel worthy of crossing the spaces that no other vehicle thus far has been equal to. Here is a creature that can bear them past the end of everything and into whatever wonders that lie beyond. 

All she has to do is conquer it.