Lia’s planted herself beside what seems to be an Avvar woman: a distinctive tribal tattoo on her face, feathers and beads tied into her hair, seated below-decks trying to stay out of the way while she looks distinctly unwell. Pale and sweaty and uncomfortable with the rolling deck beneath them, the rhythmic movement of the ship as it makes its way through the storm: evidently a few riverboats and Astrid’s one single trip across the Waking Sea hasn’t prepared her for a longer journey. Her hands are gripped vise-like around a mug of cold water, and she looks up at the other woman, the warning sinking in.

“What kind of shadow? Did you see land?” she asks, hopeful. Or, perhaps equally hopeful: “Or something what’s gonna eat us?”

At least then the sea-voyage would be over!!