Trai Part 7 – A wet beginning

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Thursday, 17 April 2008 18:28

{jcomments on}Trai Part 7 – A wet beginning

Trai, crouched almost double stared aghast at Cranheart, eyes wide open, his mouth opening and closing ineffectually.
“Well don’t……hunch there doing fish impressions, sit down before you end up stuck like that permanently”
His amazed daze broken by the sound of his old masters voice and the fact that his rucksack with his sword strapped to it was getting heavy, Trai made to stand up straight. “But you wer” crack, Trai resumed his crouched position, rubbing his head furiously with his free hand. Cranheart finished the sentence for him.
“Supposed to be on the Seaborn….true, but I decided to sail with you instead, the other masters can be some what argumentative at times and the though of spending four days at sea with them was not all together appealing” the old man watched as the Prince careful negotiated the beams overhead, the broad smile never left the older man’s face as Trai finally seated himself on the one remaining chair.
Still rubbing his head, Trai turned to address Cranheart, but he held up a hand stopping Trai from saying a word.
“You are going to ask how I knew you would be here” the smile turned to a smug grin as the Prince nodded his agreement.
“Well” said Cranheart lifting his legs and resting them on the old travel box Trai had seen in his sparse room.
“It’s like this……it’s what I would have done and you and I ……we aren’t that different” Cranheart looked up at Trai’s, his face was somber and his eyes seemed haunted. The old man cursed himself for reveling in his own cleverness, the last thing the boy needed was an old man grinning and boasting of how smart he was. Cranhearts grin faded as he watched Trai’s face.
“Enough about me, what’s your plan” asked Cranheart, his tone still friendly and enquiring.
“Plan” said Trai vaguely. “I intend to travel in search of the man who ordered my sister killed and one day I will find him…….and make him suffer the way he’s made me suffer”
Cranheart shivered slightly at the venom in Trai’s voice, but his face hardened as he placed his feet once more upon the warped boards of the ship. Leaning forward his tone no long congenial, he looked Trai straight in the eye.
“So you intend to kill the person most dear to this man”
Trai’s eyes never left the other mans.
“Yes”
With a dismissive “Hummpph” Cranheart leaned back once more in his chair. His left hand casually wandered to his moustache, twisting the whiskers unconsciously.
“This sounds like a….. good plan…….” Said Cranheart matter of factly, as he looked around the room as if searching for something.
The two sat in silence for some time, before Cranheart stood up, his head just fitting under the beams. “I think I will go on deck and watch as we leave harbour, I think it may be a long time before I see Ironmark again” Stretching he walked to the door, ducking slightly as he left the room.

Trai watched Cranheart leave, wondering at the man’s unexpected response to his plan. He had waited almost wanting Cranheart to argue with his plan, to pull it to pieces before offering a better alternative. The air in the room seemed filled with unasked questions, hanging, waiting for someone to deliver the required dialogue and necessary answers. Trai looked around their berth, taking in his surroundings for the first time. Other than the two chairs, there was a small table and a single window, the morning light was bathing the room in a warm glow and Trai realized the ship was turning, ready to start her journey.

The only other furnishings were the double bunks, built into the wall opposite the window. Standing carefully, Trai took the three steps required to reach the bunks, he stowed his few belongs under the bottom bunk, patting his pocket he checked his money bag, now one gold coin lighter. Sitting on the edge of the bunk, he swung his legs onto the badly stuffed mattress, banging his knee on the base of the top most shelf. Rubbing his knee he wondered how many lumps and bumps he would have before the journey was over. Sitting upright he tried to fit his long legs under low frame and with a squeeze his knees just made it inside. Half laying, half sitting he filled the small bunk. Laying down would be an impossibility, so turning on his side, he brought his knees up until they were almost in line with his hips. Sighing he closed his eyes, suddenly feeling very tired from the nights ordeal.

Cranheart stood on the steering deck leaning on the port rail watching the harbour disappear behind them. The hand full of sailors on board the small vessel ran around, in what to the untrained eye would seem like chaos, but each man had his own duties to carry out. As the harbour drifted away, he turned his attention the headlands on either side that formed the natural harbour, the entry to the cove was barely two hundred paces across, enough for three ships side by side. On each of the headlands was a watchtower, two identical brothers that watched the approaches tirelessly. Atop each of the two windowless towers were wooden platforms. The figures manning the port tower waved at the Weaver as she passed between the stone guardians. Lifting a hand he waved back, being at sea always put him in a good mood, a mood he would enjoy until he returned to the cabin. The left Tower was silhouetted by the rising sun, forcing Cranheart to shield his eyes against the glowing disc.
Leaning out over the rail he tried to see the Seaborn ahead of them, the Weaver was smaller, but the faster of the two vessels and before long they would overtake the larger vessel. Breathing in the cold morning air, rich with the smells of the sea, he smiled, the young man below temporarily forgotten. The screech of seagulls draw his attention up to the larger of the two masts, the white birds hovered overhead, calling to each other as if asking where the ship was heading. With a jolt the Weaver sprung forward, as the main sail unfurled. The deck heaved below him as she gained speed; he was surprised how fast she was, as her keel cut through the waves, white spray flying up in her wake. There could be no better place on earth than the open sea, his collar length hair swept forward by the prevailing wind, his face speckled by the salt spray, a new morning’s sun warming his side. With a sigh he relaxed enjoying the moment, taking deep lungful’s of the fresh clean air.

Cranheart;s peace was broken by a gruff but cheerful voice. “From the look on your face, I’d have said you were a sailing man” The broad shouldered captain was rubbing his bald head with his cloth cap as he looked at Cranheart. Both men stood much the same height, but while Cranheart was slim and lithe, Rubon was barrel chested, with large forearms and unlike his head they were covered in thick black hair.
Cranheart’s smile deepened.
“Not a sailor, just a lover of the sea” he said taking another deep breath, his eyes closed.
“Aye, nothing better than a swaying deck, a good breeze and clear skies” his size and gruffness of voice did not distract from Rubons good nature. A man who required little from life to be happy. Cranheart had liked the man the instant he had met him, his quick smile and easy disposition clear to any who met him. Cranheart knew men like Rubon were few and far between and of all the people he had know and met, there were very few he took an instant liking to.
A comfortable silence followed as both men were lost in their own thoughts.

Trai awoke to the sound of gulls cries and creaking timbers, he tried to lift his head, but his neck was so stiff from the cramped bunk that he had to dig his fingers into the tight muscles to get them to relax. Placing a hand on the wooden floor he eased his locked legs from their bent and confined position at the end of the bunk. Placing numb legs on the floor he pulled himself into a sitting position, crack, he caught his head on the edge of the upper bunk. Switching from his neck, he rubbed the sore spot he had bumped. The ship swayed back and forth as he tried he get the blood to flow to each of the numerous parts of his body that tingled with pins and needles.
His head felt light, the swaying some how exaggerated, the motion of the Weaver grating at each nerve. His stomach flipped and gurgled, placing a hand on the offending organ, he remembered he hadn’t eaten for sometime, but at the though of food his stomach flipped over again, then again. Bile filled his mouth, acid burning his throat. He clasped his mouth shut for fear of being sick, his hand held tightly over clamp lips. Standing, he realized the swaying was worse, his stomach flipping in time as the ship rocked from side to side. Bolting for the door, he cracked his head again on one of the cross beams, paying no attention to the aching throb, he half climbed; half fell up the narrow wooden steps. The feeling having returned to his oxygen starved limbs, he could feel his own blood sloshing around inside his veins, moving back and forth with the ship. Stumbling onto the main deck, he staggered to the starboard rail, just in time to vomit violently in to the blue green sea that washed along the ships side.

The two men turned as Trai staggered onto the main deck, his face pale. Both men grinned at his obvious distress, but both sympathetic to the ravages of sea sickness, something neither had experienced first hand, only observed in others. Turning back to the view from the port side, they both watched the Seaborn as they slowly overhauled her. The great sails of the three mast ship could be heard over their own, as they flapped in the strong breeze. Distant voices could be heard issuing orders to the sailors that ran along the yard arm and across the laden decks.
“Sailors know what their doing” said Rubon, “it’s the one shouting who is unsure, can hear it in his voice”.
The source of the shouting was a figure on the steering deck cloaked in an elaborately weaved overcoat, the gold thread visible by all aboard as the climbing sun made it shimmer. A large round belly protruded from the extravagant cloth, hanging over the man’s hidden belt. A black peaked mariner’s hat sat astride a round podgy face. As they drew lever with the Seaborn, the figure started gesturing wildly with his arms and shouting even louder at the sailors, all of them ignored the man’s ranting.
“Spellman or rather Lord Spellman” said Rubon emphasizing the Lord.
“A lesser noble from inland, not that you would know to speak with him, acts like Lord bloodyownitall” sneered Rubon, he dislike for the man clear.
“Man’ a bloody fool; to save money he’s captaining the ship himself”
Still sneering Rubon stated “Do you know what he said to me?” without pausing for an answer, he put on his best posh voice, pushing his nose up with his finger as he spoke. “There only common sailors how hard can it be to keep them in order”.
Cranheart laughed out loud at the poor impression as he looked across at Trai who was now virtually lying on the rail, his head still hanging over the side.
Rubon unaware Cranheart was no longer watching, walked along the rail wiggling his rear and going “ha ha ha” as he continued his impersonation. The crew members close enough to have heard the conversation laughed raucously, while those out of ear shot smiled at their captain, used to his sense of humor.
Cranheart strolled over to Trai, resting a sympathetic hand on his back.
“You alright” as asked concerned but amused at the Princes condition. His only answer was a pitiful moan.
Tired of his joke Rubon stopped prancing and waved his hand at the crew.
“Back to work yer dirty sea dogs” he said still smiling.
The entertainment over the men returned to their tasks, a few of the men smiled as the popular captain retreating back as he walk across to the Cranheart and the woeful figure of Trai.
“Looks like the boy has it bad” said Rubon as he came to a stop next to Cranheart. “I’d better mix up my brew, looks like he’s going to need it” commented the captain. Cranheart nodded his agreement, knowing what the brew would be, but knowing it would make the Prince better.
As Rubon disappeared down the steps to his cabin, Trai straighten up. His face was deathly pale and his hands shook as they released their grip on the rail. Turning he leaned back against the rail.
“What’s wrong with me” pleaded Trai.
“Seasickness, nothing more nothing less, won’t kill you, but you might wish it had over the next few days” replied Cranheart.
The captain returned with a silver mug, battered from years of use, a white frothy head sat atop the contense.
“Drink this lad, make you feel better, but don’t throw it back up, has some of my best brandy in there and I’d hate to waste it” he passed the mug to Trai, who sniffed a the brew suspiciously.
“What is it” he asked
“I’ll tell you that once you’ve drank it” said Rubon with a wink.
With shaking hands he lifted the mug to his lips.
“Uuurrgh” cried Trai. “That smells disgusting”
Rubon shrugged his shoulders.
“Drink it or puke, up to you”
Looking with distain at the frothy brew, Trai pinched his nose closed and quaffed the evil concoction.
With a weak smile Trai held the mug aloft. Slowly the smile faded and if possible he went even paler than before.
“Don’t puke” Rubons tone left no room for argument.
One hand holding his mouth closed, Trai’s kept swallowing trying to keep the medicine down.
Reaching inside a faded red waist coat, Rubon produced a small silver flask, dolphins etched around the narrow neck, interlinked nose to fin.
“Drink” he said handing Trai the flask, “It will get rid of the taste”
Popping open the stopper, Trai took a swig of the flasks contents, as the first drops struck his throat he started to cough, the liquid burning as traveled towards his sour belly. His eyes watering, he looked up at the two blurry figure, both were laughing at the Trai’s reaction.
“Best brandy in the western continent that is” stated Rubon.
Cranheart stopped laughing when he heard this, his hand scratching at his moustaches, reaching out he took the flask from Trai and took a hefty mouth full. As he swallowed, his eyes also began to water. Cranheart turned to Rubon, his eyebrows raised in disbelief. “Well the best Brandy you can buy for two coppers”
Both Rubons companions laughed and coughed intermittently.
“So what was in that mixture” gasped Trai, still trying to recover from the strength of the brandy.
“Well” begin Rubon “Milk, Brandy……..fish oil…….whisked together”
“That’s all”
“Oh and er…..a secret ingredient” Cranheart smiled, the hand that twisted his moustaches hiding his mirth from Trai.
Trai looked down and the dregs in the bottom of the mug, unsure whether he really wanted to know what the ingredient was. He handed the silver mug back to Rubon. “I do feel much better” he said as Rubon took the mug.
“In fact I’m feeling better by the moment”
Turning away from Trai, Rubon caste a conspirator grin at Cranheart, who looked away, facing out over the starboard rail so the Prince wouldn’t see his growing smile, as he fought back the urge to laugh.

The two travelers spent the rest of the day watching the sea and chatting about nothing, Trai’s good moan continued. Cranheart knew it would be a temporary thing, Rubons seasickness brew the reason for his high spirits.

As they chatted Cranheart made sure the conversation could not turn to Trai’s sister or her death. Anyone seeing Trai would have had no idea what the young man had recently been through or the reason for his journey, he appeared for all accounts to be a simple traveler, even if his great statue was somewhat beyond the norm.
The crew lazed around the desk, their tasks completed, the breeze steady, other than the occasional man who moved to tighten some rigging that had loosened everyone was relaxing in the warm rays of the sun. Each content with his lot.
As the sun slipped away behind the horizon, Cranheart stood up from the coil of rope he had been sitting on. As the afternoon had passed so Trai had become more somber, his mood had darkened with the sky, the effects of the brew wearing off.
“I think I will go back to the cabin, the airs starting to get cooler” said Cranheart as he lifted his arms high, stretching stiff muscles.
Trai did not reply, but simply nodded his head in acknowledgement. The older man could see he was once again thinking about his task and the savagery of his sister’s death.
With a sigh Cranheart walked slowly to their cabin, ducking slightly he climbed down the steps. Entering the cabin, he secured the table and chairs to the metal plates fitted into the wooden planks of the floor to prevent the furniture sliding around the room in heavier seas.
Removing his woolen cloak and brown soft leather boots, he placed them under Trai’s bunk and with a grunt he pulled himself up and onto the top . Stretching out on the lumpy mattress, his feet laying flush to the end panel, Cranheart linked his fingers across his chest, closed tired eyes and waited.

Trai listened to Cranheart descend the steps, angry at himself for being so miserable. His former master deserved better and he shouldn’t have to put up with his dark moods. He had been content all afternoon, almost happy; his mind had been free of the shadows that had haunted his mind since the night of his sister’s death. He hadn’t even thought of his sister until now, this brought a pang of guilt, she had only been dead a few days and he had been laughing with Cranheart and Rubon, was his love for her so shallow and worthless.
Tired of the constant doubts that plagued his consciousness, he yearned for the sound of Heleana’s voice, her joyful laugh. But he knew he would never hear them again, she was lost to him forever, the person he had loved more than his own life. The tears that wanted to flow fought against the anger and hurt that burned inside him, he felt torn between the emptiness of his loss and the rage and lust for revenge.
Looking down at the wooden planks he sat on, he watched a small beetle climb out from between two of the planks, its six legs carried it towards his knee, it stopped as if smelling the cotton of his trousers, before bravely mounting the hills and crevasses of folded material. The beetle eventually stood proudly upon Trai’s knee, its antenna waving around as the small insect lifted itself up, its two front legs held out like arms.
Moving his leg slightly, the beetle’s antenna started twitching frantically. With purpose the beetle climbed down Trai’s knee as quickly as the six legs would carry it. As it touched the wooden planks Trai’s saw where the beetle was heading. Under his leg were the flattened remains of another beetle, crushed as Trai had changed position early on in the day.
The little beetle circled the remains, his fore legs and antenna stroked the crushed beetle, like a blind man feeling his way. As he watched the beetle turned towards him, looking up at Trai, his tiny legs waving in the air, almost like it was shaking miniature fists at him. Wings appeared from beneath the beetle’s black exoskeleton, with what seemed great effort it fluttered a few inches before falling back to the planks, landing on its back, legs kicking madly as it tried to right itself. Reaching down Trai tipped the beetle back over and it scuttled back to gap in the planks.
“Sorry little beetle” whispered Trai, as he stared at the crushed beetle left behind. With a sigh Trai stood, the crew watched him as he walked towards the steps. Each of them wondered about Prince Colossus as they referred to him. They knew who he was and what had happened, what they didn’t know was why he was on their ship, if they had know they would have pitied the man he sort, all could see the vengeance that burned with in him.

Trai opened the door to the cabin, doubled over as usual, one hand on his head incase he became friendly with another of the cross beams. Crouched quietly he listened to the steady breathing coming from Cranheart’s bunk. Making as little noise as possible he reached for his mattress, laying it on the floor next to the two bunks. Easing himself down, he stretched out on his new bed, his legs resting on the hard wood planks, the mattress wasn’t much better, but it was better than nothing. It was his first night onboard the ship and he already missed his soft down mattress at White Peak. Resting his head on an arm he closed his eyes as the last rays of the sun disappear from the window, leaving the room in a shadowy darkness.
“What will you do if the man you seek has a daughter who he loves more than anything, will you kill her, so you can make him suffer like you do” Cranheart’s voice made Trai jump.
“I thought you were asleep” asked Trai guiltily as if caught stealing biscuits from the kitchen.
“I was, but there are different levels of sleep” replied Cranheart as if stating the obvious. Trai didn’t reply, he lay thinking about his former masters words. He had not thought of the person he would kill; only of making the man who ordered Heleana’s death suffer like he was.
Neither spoke for sometime, until Trai thought Cranheart had fallen back to sleep. His mind full of conflicting arguments, he wondered if he could kill an innocent for the sake of revenge, but he knew in his heart he could not. How was he to make the man suffer and feel the dark hollowness and aching pain that throbbed inside of him night and day. With the image of Heleana’s face in his mind, Trai drifted off to sleep.

Cranheart woke to the darkness of the cabin, his bunk swinging violently from side to side, as it heaved up and down, the timbers of the ship groaned in protest.
“What is it” shouted Trai, his voice filled with concern and uncertainty.
The wind howled outside their small window.
The force of the wind and waves as they buffeted the ship nearly tipped Cranheart from his bunk. Clinging to the side of the bunk he carefully climbed down, just as the ship was lifted into the air, momentarily weightless Cranheart hung in mid air, before the ship crashed back down, sending Cranheart tumbling into Trai.
They both grunted as the older man landed on top of Trai. Extricating their arms and legs, Cranheart shouted at Trai.
“On deck…..quick” reaching for his boots Cranheart held tight to the bunks frame to stop himself from sliding back and forth across the floor. Pulling on his boots one handed Cranheart crawled across to the door, looking back over his shoulder he saw Trai was also pulling on his boots, one arm wrapped around the leg of the secured table. Cranheart thanked his luck stars he had remember to clip the table and chairs in place.
Pulling the door open, he rose to his feet, grabbing hold of the hand rail that ran along the inside of the tiny hallway.
A hand grabbed his boot, looking over his shoulder again, he just made out Trai, crouching he was also reaching for the rail. The Prince nodded his head that he was okay. As he climbed the swaying steps, Trai close behind him, the door above flew open, sea water poured through the opening, drenching Cranheart and pushing him back against Trai. Wrapping one arm around Cranheart’s waist, Trai gripped the rail with all his might.
Cranheart spluttered his thanks as he regained his balance. Reaching the top of the steps he held the door open with one hand as it tried to swing closed. The scene that met Cranheart made him stop in his tracks. Trai peered over the older man’s shoulder. Both of them squinted again the spray that whipped across their faces, their wet clothes clung to them as the wind torn at the frail material.

Black waves rose above the ships side rails, water flowing across the deck as the waves broke against the prow of the Weaver. The Sails, torn to shreds streamed out from the two masts, as the wind drove the ship forward into the crashing waves.
Dragging themselves to the rung of steps on the port side, the two men struggled to keep their footing as the ship was battered by the unrelenting wind and sea. Holding tightly to the port rail they crouched on the steering deck, the figure of a man could be seen at the wheel. The spray stung their faces as if it were sand, as they tried to make out the lone man at the wheel.
A bolt of lightning lit the sky, illuminating the image before them. Rubon’s, hanging on to the wheel, a thick rope wrapped around his waist strapping him to the wheel. Cranheart held an arm out as if pointing at Rubon’s, the ships captain turned his head in their direction raising a warning hand. Cranheart slid to the deck; both arms rapped around the rail, Trai joined him as the two of them held on to the rail for dear life. A great clap of thunder drowned out the sound of the wind and waves for a brief second. Waves burst against the ship, massive plumes of water cascaded down on the deck, the weight of water driving the air from laboring lungs.
For what seemed like days the three men clung to their respective mooring, muscles ached and shivered as the cold sea water drained their strength. The ceaseless pounding of the sea ripped the rail on the main deck from its mountings, sharp splinters of wood mingled with spray. Between the breaking waves Cranheart and Trai searched with their eyes for the rest of the crew, but with no sign of the missing men. As light broke over the horizon the merciless waves started to diminish, the ships rocking slowed; the beaten timbers stopped their continuous moaning as the sea ended its assault on the small ship. The wind no long howled around the ship, ebbing away to the occasional gust.

The two exhausted men hung limply from the steering deck rail, soaked to the bone and shivering, arms locked in place. Trai whispered.
“Cranheart” his throat burnt, his lips coated in salt. Trai unhooked his arm from the rail, for the last two hours he had held the unconscious Cranheart in place, one arm across the older man’s chest. Barely able to lift his arms, he laid Cranheart on his side. The former master coughed, then took a huge lungful of air before throwing up the salt water he had swallowed during the night. He lay panting on the wet deck as consciousness begrudgingly returned. Placing his back to the rail, Trai stretched his legs out in front of him; his head slumped forward on his chest.
“Quite a …cough cough …night aye lads”
Trai looked up at the sound of the voice, Rubon hung limply from the wheel, his head turned to face the two men as it rested on the rungs of the wheel. The rope still in place, the only thing holding Rubon upright.
Wiping his drenched hair from his face, Trai asked.
“Where’s the crew”
Rubon turned his head away from Trai before answering.
“Gone” he said
“What happened”
For a few long seconds Rubon’s didn’t answer. Trai though he had not heard him and was about to ask again, when Rubon spoke.
“Came from no where…….the men had strung their hammocks on the deck as normal, and in an instant the wind spun from South easterly to north. A wave appeared from no where…..fifty paces high……I was on the wheel…… but the wave broke over the main deck……most of them were swept straight overboard……but a few held onto the rail….they were calling me……yelling…screaming for help….then the ship leaned to port and the waves swept them away to” the anguish in Rubon’s voice torn at Trai scarred heart.
“The wind never comes from the south….not naturally anyway” Cranheart was laying on his back, eyes closed his face pale.
“I know that and you know that…….still didn’t stop it happening” replied an exhausted Rubon.
“Come and cut me down boy, these ropes have virtually cut me in half” said Rubon wincing as he pulled himself straight.
Trai grabbed the familiar rail, pulling himself reluctantly to his feet; his legs trembling with the effort. Walking carefully towards Rubon, the deck still swaying slightly, the wind whipped his hair around his face; forcing Trai’s to push it back so he could see where he was going.
Reaching Rubon, the sailor gave him a knife he pulled from his belt. Placing an arm around Rubons waist incase he fell when released, Trai sliced at the sodden ropes. As they fell to the slick deck, Trai staggered under the dead weight that was Rubon. Lowering the man to the deck, Rubon indicated towards his breast pocket on his wet stained waist coat.
“Brandy” he said weakly.
Removing the flask and uncorking it, he lifted Rubon into a sitting position and past him the opened flask.
Taking a mouth full Rubon past it to Trai, who shook his head.
“Give some to Cranheart, he looks like he could do with it” said Rubon looking in the Cranheart’s direction.
Hearing his name Cranheart propped himself up on one elbow.
“I feel terrible” he said taking the offered flask from Trai.
Sitting on the deck next to Cranheart, Trai asked.
“What do we do now?”
Rubon and Cranheart exchanged looks.
With a sigh, Rubon stared down at the deck.
“The wind is still blowing north, we have no sail and the rudder broke during the night……..we go where the wind blows and current steers”
Trai stared up at the naked masts.
“But there’s nothing north of here……just the …” his words trailed offer. Cranheart handed the flask back to Trai, putting the stopper back he made to stand. “Keep it boy, I have others” said Rubon, waving Trai to remain seated.
They sat in silence, waiting patiently for some semblance of strength to return to their exhausted bodies. The three of them shivered as they dozed on the deck, there clothes cold against their flesh in the weak early morning light.
A bump against the hull made them look up. The stronger of the three, Trai stood, groaning as his muscles complained at the movement, walking to the side he looked over the rail. A small lump of ice float by, bumping gently against the hull as it pasted. Not sure what this meant he turned to face the two other men.
“Ice” he said with raised eye brows.
The two men looked at each other, each looking for confirmation of there fear in the eyes of the other.
“Icebergs” said Rubons, “we are a lot further north than I thought”
With a deep sigh Cranheart looked up at Trai.
“That means we are going only one way, unless the wind and current change” said a forlorn Cranheart.
“The frozen wastes”

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