The following night, Natasha sat at the steps that led to the ships helm, looking down at the main deck and the men who still lingered there. It was late and she was exhausted, having spent the entire day exerting herself underneath the warm sun, but she hadn't been able to fall asleep.
John had delayed their departure for one more day, after they returned from the village to find a report that there were still repairs to be finished before they set sail into deeper water. Natasha, determined to busy herself for the day to keep her mind off her disappointment that they were still not beginning their journey and worry over her family, had let Jack take her throughout the entire ship once they returned from the village, trying to pick up on the names he used to describe people and places onboard. She had committed as many names to memory as possible, and spent the night writing the names down on one of the back pages of her sketchbook, adding quick sketches of the faces she remembered next to the names to pass the time.
The next day she spent back on the small corner of the beach that could be seen from neither village, letting Alexander begin to teach her how to properly wield and move with a sword and the dagger she had been given, with Jack cheering for her as he alternated between swimming through the shallow surf and running through the warm sand. John had originally ordered Castille to instruct Natasha, but when Alexander volunteered instead, she accepting his offer, secretly hoping that Alexander would have been an easier teacher, and that she would have the chance to talk to him more about her home. She hadn't been given the chance the night before, as Alexander spent his night with the rest of the crew on the main deck. Both of her hopes proved futile. He was kinder, more personable, but held back no criticisms or toughness when it came to actually teaching her, and his drive left no time or breath in Natasha's lungs for conversation. She suspected part of the reason he was tough on her was because John would occasionally appear at the ship's edge and watch them, and every time she noticed him she felt themselves both putting forth more effort, no matter how much her body ached in protest.
By the end of the day her arms and shoulders ached from the weight of the sword, her feet were blistered from the boots that she hadn't fully broken in and had eventually abandoned as they trained, and her nose and cheeks were red from the sun. She had hoped to sleep well through the night, ready to finally set sail the following morning, but the crew had dipped into the ship's supply of liquor after their own long day of work readying the ship for departure, their stash enhanced by bottles they had picked up while in town the previous day. Natasha hadn't been able to fall asleep with the noise combined with the millions of questions she still had about her home and the anticipation of finally settling sail tomorrow, which came springing back to the forefront of her mind the moment she tried to lay down to rest.
After surrendering any hope of sleep, Natasha decided to venture out of her quarters, the captains' quarters, to the main deck. Back in her own clothes, her dress stored neatly with the others that Jack had managed to get back to the ship before the shop was destroyed over the guilt that Natasha felt while wearing them, she had taken her sketchbook and slipped out of the room, standing by the door for a moment, watching the men before deciding to slip above deck and settled herself in a position out of the way. About half way up the steps she sat, leaning against the ship's side.
The men all but ignored her now, slowly growing accustomed to her presence, although still unhappy. A few still glanced in her direction, eyes hard and distant as they watched her, and Natasha tried to ignore them, engaging in Jack's conversation as he perched himself on the step beside her for a while before disappearing into the massive ship. The others were gathered around a metal bin in which they had started a small fire, and were talking and drinking for hours until some made their way below deck, others falling asleep where they sat. She watched them closely, studying them in silence for a while, attempting to gauge their appearances before she settled on trying to decipher them the best way she knew how. Opening her sketchbook, her fingers hesitating when she passed the page she had last been working on from her perch in the willow tree, she found a clean page and began to document the scene before her. Her fingers clutched steadily around a piece of charcoal that she dragged across a fresh page, the scene before her slowly taking place on the paper, clearing her mind of questions for the first time in days.
YOU ARE READING
The Nightingale
Pertualangan[Completed] [Editing/Re-Writing] [10/9/19] For hundreds of years Natasha and the rest of her village have been prisoners within their own town, their own homes, as a punishment for what she believes was a failed revolution attempt against their unju...
