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"...Ellis?"
"Hmm?"
"You stopped listening, didn't you?"
Ellis Moorhaven's eyes flicked nervously from side to side. "Not completely."
Roland Ferris sighed, dropping a heavy hand on Ellis's shoulder with a warm, solid squeeze. Touch was grounding for him--few knew how very tactile he was since the Cerberus. His trust was hard won, and harder still to keep, leaving Roland the only person that Roland himself was aware of who could do so without risking his own neck.
"What troubles you, pup?"
A knot Ellis hadn't been aware of loosened at the back of his neck. The nickname was one from childhood, a term of endearment only allowed to spring from Roland's lips. Sometimes Aida's, least when they were growing up.
Leaning more heavily into Roland's touch, Ellis shut his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Land's gettin' to me, Ro. Too many people, not enough salt...air's dryin' me out, and I can't think, I need...I need a boat, I need the real air..."
"We'll find hire on another ship soon, I swear it." Roland assured him, draping a companionable arm around Ellis's shoulders instead. Without thought, Ellis leaned into him, and for the briefest instant let his forehead press against Roland's neck before he straightened. In the months since Blair's betrayal, he'd grown to suspect there was a connection between Ellis's comprehension of the mermaid tongue and his well being on the water. At sea, he was still calmer than on land, more at peace.
Leading Ellis out of the tavern where they'd been drinking, Roland tipped his face into the sunlight and took a deep breath. The air was full of salt and damp, of steel anchors and aged wood and the must of sail canvas.
"Storm's coming." he realized grimly. The knowledge was not on the air or in the scents of home, but in the meat of his bones, a cold and heavy knowledge that would not leave him until the first clap of thunder was birthed by the sky.
"Don't tell me that, Ro--don't tell me storm's comin', we'll never get on the gods-forsaken water..."
Roland didn't answer as Ellis began to pace within a two foot area, muttering to himself and shaking his head.
He couldn't. The knowledge was in his bones: the storm was coming, no more than three days time, and they'd be docked at the Port of Souls for at least a week.
Until the fury passed...they weren't going anywhere.
"Hmm?"
"You stopped listening, didn't you?"
Ellis Moorhaven's eyes flicked nervously from side to side. "Not completely."
Roland Ferris sighed, dropping a heavy hand on Ellis's shoulder with a warm, solid squeeze. Touch was grounding for him--few knew how very tactile he was since the Cerberus. His trust was hard won, and harder still to keep, leaving Roland the only person that Roland himself was aware of who could do so without risking his own neck.
"What troubles you, pup?"
A knot Ellis hadn't been aware of loosened at the back of his neck. The nickname was one from childhood, a term of endearment only allowed to spring from Roland's lips. Sometimes Aida's, least when they were growing up.
Leaning more heavily into Roland's touch, Ellis shut his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Land's gettin' to me, Ro. Too many people, not enough salt...air's dryin' me out, and I can't think, I need...I need a boat, I need the real air..."
"We'll find hire on another ship soon, I swear it." Roland assured him, draping a companionable arm around Ellis's shoulders instead. Without thought, Ellis leaned into him, and for the briefest instant let his forehead press against Roland's neck before he straightened. In the months since Blair's betrayal, he'd grown to suspect there was a connection between Ellis's comprehension of the mermaid tongue and his well being on the water. At sea, he was still calmer than on land, more at peace.
Leading Ellis out of the tavern where they'd been drinking, Roland tipped his face into the sunlight and took a deep breath. The air was full of salt and damp, of steel anchors and aged wood and the must of sail canvas.
"Storm's coming." he realized grimly. The knowledge was not on the air or in the scents of home, but in the meat of his bones, a cold and heavy knowledge that would not leave him until the first clap of thunder was birthed by the sky.
"Don't tell me that, Ro--don't tell me storm's comin', we'll never get on the gods-forsaken water..."
Roland didn't answer as Ellis began to pace within a two foot area, muttering to himself and shaking his head.
He couldn't. The knowledge was in his bones: the storm was coming, no more than three days time, and they'd be docked at the Port of Souls for at least a week.
Until the fury passed...they weren't going anywhere.
