Ascension: Isle of Draconi

Chapter 3: Home

Frasa awoke to the rocking of the ship. She inhaled sharply, annoyed that her sleep had been disturbed. Opening her eyes, she yawned, without making a sound, a longheld habit. She was a woman of few words and sounds. It was what had been ingrained in her. A habit of protection. She glanced around the cabin noticing the glaring man from the day before was gone, all the other members of the cabin still fast asleep.

Her hands traced her waist, carefully feeling for her blade. It was still there.

She glanced at the bag in her lap, making sure nothing was amiss. Sifting through the bag she found herself satisfied. She peeled back the hood from her head, took her baggage with her, and walked towards the stairs.

Emerging from the hull, the first thing she noticed was the warm air. It was sticky and moist, something she was unused to in the cold and dry weather of Barnabus. Peeling off her cape, she tucked it in her bag, eyes catching on the sunrise. The sky was a beautiful orange and pink reflecting on the vast ocean's blue. For miles in every direction, that was all she saw. The warm blue water highlighted by the tantalizing rays. She tilted her head intrigued.

Moving to the side of the ship, she looked and noticed the water was much lighter and clearer than the water at home. While she rarely went to sea in Plyto, holding a small fear of the ocean still after all these years, she didn't miss the difference in the waters. Pluto's waters were dark and cold. These ones, she thought, were much prettier.

"Goould mow-ning," the captain chirped at her.

Frasa spun around, eyes catching on the man who stood on the quarter deck, steering the ship. He smiled at her gently. She didn't miss the way his brows raised and he looked at her hair in surprise. It was something she was used to.

"Good morning," she called back softly with a smile.

"Fowd is in oopper cah-bin," he nodded at her, his head moving to point below. Beside the staircase that went to the hull, two small wooden doors were propped open. Out from them wafted a delicious sesame scent.

Frasa nodded her head in thanks, walking over to the doors and peaking in. A small kitchenette made of a shiny, slightly weathered, mettle blazed. The food on its surface bubbling and sizzling. A wooden table sat in the center of the room and was crowded upon by members of the crew who ate greedily. The man who had earlier taken her payment to board the ship was revealed to be the cook as he stood by the stove stirring various ingredients into a pot.

Frasa slipped into the room, her presence going unnoticed as she walked up behind the cook. She cleared her throat and he flinched before turning to face her.

"Good morning," he smiled. His eyes lingered on her hair, an indistinguishable crease pressing between his brows momentarily.

"Morning," she greeted back with a nod.

"Would you like some food?" he asked. He motioned with the wooden spoon in his hand to the pot which contained a steaming porridge-looking dish.

"Yes," she smiled, "thank you."

He nodded grinning back. He reached for a tall pile of wooden bowls, filling one, and handing it to her. She took it from him tentatively alongside a spoon he offered with a nod of her head. Then, she glanced at the table of sailors who were all eyeing her curiously. Suddenly, self-conscious, Frasa glanced towards the empty deck deciding a meal alone would be for the best.

In the last few years, Frasa had rarely had to interact with people for long periods of time. Often, she kept to herself, hiding among the shadows, or hiding from the people around her. The thought that she would be stuck on a boat full of people suddenly struck her as strange. But, it was only temporary. Once she reached Draconi, her goal would be to stay out of sight and mind. She would observe and then she would strike at an opportune time.