The woman who hears that call from Inej cranes her head, and looks up from the deck.

Astrid is tall, with her hair also neatly braided, after it was long and unruly and kept whipping into her eyes; there’s a tattoo on the right side of her face, coiled abstract shapes. Not a seasoned sailor, but she’s been chipping in with the Riftwatch crew wherever she can.

She’s chewing on her cheek. Still a little shaky on this heaving boat — a life lived on land and a distance from the nearest ocean will do that to you — but she’s also never one to turn down a challenge, nor a beautiful view, so she eventually seizes the rigging and starts to doggedly climb.

And this part, she’s good at: she’s scrambled up cliff faces and trees, nimble hands and quick feet, and so she eventually makes it up to the crow’s nest with a white-knuckle grip, as she heaves herself onto the platform and then clutches the mast, careful to not get too far to the edge. “Ohhhh my gods,” she says, then, “You, uh. Can really feel the waves up here, can’t you.”

The height itself isn’t a problem, she’s good with heights, but that swaying movement—