The small girl sat in the middle of the tiny room, skirt puddled around her.  The dress was too small, but she didn’t really notice.  She’d worn it for too long, it was ‘normal’ by now.  As was the fact that despite her young age she sat alone in this room.  She’d learned to keep herself company, and occupied. Sometimes, it was making up stories in her head to go with the sounds she heard from up above.

The ship sailed through the seas nearly continuously, it’s missions centered on the small grouping of islands at least a days travel from the mainland.  These islands had traditionally been filled with fishermen, a small trade eeked out from the occasional ships that came to trade for exotic crafts, spices and fruits that couldn’t be found elsewhere.  The girl would gaze in fascination from her window when they approached the islands, her heart longing for the openness of the air and sea she saw.  She, of course, wasn’t allowed to go.

 The rocking of the ship beneath her and the shouts of men above were instead the familiar music of her life.  The sound of boots and creaking, and occasionally the call of sea birds filtered through the old boards and the one small window.  And at least once a day, sometimes more, the softer sound of footfalls on the wood outside her door, and the click of a lock and turning of a door knob.

 Her mother was a thin older blonde with a pale complexion that was enhanced with dots of rouge, her hair upswept in what as a child she’d thought was a classy updo laced with braids.  She came once a day with her share of food, usually some bread with a bit of cheese.  Dainty girls were prettier, she’d tell the child - both in response to protests that she was still -hungry- and the way that she gobbled down the food enthusiastically.

 Sometimes she would sleep, vivid dreams that the young child didn’t understand.  It mingled with the call of seabirds and the rhythmic rush of waves, the call of voices not the rougher tones of sailors but the melodious sounds of villagers going about their day with greetings and gossip.  The clink of glasses as an even smaller girl sat behind a bar playing with seashells.  Memories mixed with fancy, but a certain sort of comfort that made her pillow a nest of black glossy hair and a warm voice singing her lullabies.

 She was too young to know if that was past, or dreams, and too young to even think to sort it out.  Too young to think about how she got here, on this ship, with a thin blonde woman mismatched with her own olive skin and dark hair as her mother.  Locked in a small room on the seas, alone.  Too young, for now, to question.  Too young yet to be faced with the reality of her life, past and present.

She grew older steadily, and with it her curiousity and drive grew.  The sound of stomping boots and calling birds, the crash of the sea against the side of the boat became more than constant rhythms of her life, and began instead to tempt her.  The small round window in her room would open and for a while, she would stick her head out.  The only view this really afforded her was of the rolling waves that stretched onward to the horizon, forever it seemed.  And for some time, that was enough. 

The sea, her constant and steady companion.  She spoke to it like it was its own entity, imagined the lives of the fish she would spot leaping from the sun-tipped waves on bright days.  Longed even to be there, dancing with them.  The sea, with its tempestuous emotions - some days calm and lapping, rocking with comfort and assurance.  Other days tossing and huge, like it had been angered to the point of devouring any that dared brave it.  She laughed with the brightness, and even as small as she was shouted into the storms - her childish understanding of her own emotions vented to the only friend she knew.

Her mother came, and after the first time she was caught at the window she began to learn to hide herself.   There was no beating, only the beginning of what would become a familiar litany of the horrors the sea held.  Devastating creatures that would tear you to shreds, ghosts of the dead wavering beneath the surface waiting to drag her down.  She could sometimes see the huge shapes of whales breaching near the ship - these could swallow her whole without a thought.  Despite the threats, and the act of fear and obedience she put on after that, these tales only served to fascinate her more.  She longed to feel the water on her skin, the salt that gathered on her face a hint, she knew, of what it would be like.

Now, her mother would come once a ten-day or so, to escort her to her fathers cabin for a meal and a visit.  During these times she was expected to sit nicely, to answer when spoken to.  She was to be pleasant and quiet, and not fuss with the pretty braids her mother did her hair into.  The too-small dress was replaced on these occasions with something a touch too big for her but tied with a pretty ribbon around the waist to match the ones in her hair.  She felt pretty, and special just to be invited - feelings that were only enhanced by the lessons on behavior her mother gave, and the doting approval of her father when she was successful. 

The shouting voices above began to draw her curiousity more soundly during this time, especially with the glimpses she caught of rough-hewn men when she was led to her father's cabin.  The last straw, however, was the young boy she saw one evening.  Dark-haired and blue-eyed, he threw her a cheeky grin behind her mother's back when she turned her head to look back just before her mother jerked her to attention again.  She couldn’t stop thinking about him.

--------------------------------

The boy huffed when he saw her, but immediately reached down and grasped her by the arm to pull her up before she could be spied from below. She was moved to one side, and the boy tucked the dagger into his belt before he looked her over.

“What’cha doing up here? Girls don’ belong on ships.” He told her sternly. His skin was chapped red from being high up in the crows nest, exposed to the wildness of the wind. His hair was long and a deep brown, hidden underneath a rough wool cap in green.

“I came to find -you-.” The girl was unabashed in the proclamation, too excited at having found him and young to even try to hide it. She knew nothing but the ship, and glimpses of the rough men that lived on it. “My mother and I belong on the ship..”

“No. Th’ men say i’s bad luck, and we’ll be pulled into th’ sea by krakens...” The boy told her, though he gave a grin and a wink as he said it. Then he turned to look out at the sea, distracted by the novelty of the girl but mindful of his job. “Tch. You’re distractin’ me, I have t’ watch.” He told her importantly.

“What do you watch for? Krakens?”

“O’course. Other ships, land, storms.” He informed her. “Nothin’ a -girl- has to worry abou’. Yer gonna get me in trouble, ya know.” He said this, but he made no move to shoo her off, giving her another curious look.

She took one step, taking her to the far edge of the nest and next to him. Her vivid green eyes drifted out over the sea, her breath exhaling as a feeling of awe washed over her. She had known only the sea, and yet, she had never seen it like this. Vast and neverending, stretching out to the edge of the sky.

She was about to speak, when there was shouting from below. Men, calling back and forth, and then the sounds of flesh against flesh. Other men gathered as two of the sailors fought, the containment of such close living conditions erupting as it sometimes did into violence.

Green eyes widened, and then she flashed a smile and stepped to the ladder. She shimmied down for all the world like she did it regularly, and made her way across the ship. Daringly, she slid over the edge and down to her window, back inside and into her bedclothes.

The adventure thrilled her, the daring of escape and defiance lit a fire in her blood. She lay awake in bed for hours that night, far past when her mother checked on her. She heard the calls of the men changing watch, finally falling asleep to dreams of what might be held underneath the waves of what had once been her only friend, the sea. Now, there was the promise of Jonas.

Over the next few weeks, she came to know the boy in the crows nest. Every chance she got, she escaped her solitary room and met Jonas above deck, where he showed her all the secret places the ship held. The maze of the hold was their playground, and for once she did all the things a child might do.

One day, they played hide and seek, the smaller girl having a distinct advantage. She found all the tight, small places that anyone larger couldn’t access. She grew more and more daring, climbing the cargo, hiding inside of barrels and crates. Jonas warned her of the danger, once when he couldn’t find her and it took her nearly an hour to get out of a crate that had shifted on her entry. But that only made her more daring.

Playing make believe. She was a sailor, and Jonas taught her how to tie knots, how to keep watch and work the sails. They were patrons at a bar, they took turns being bards, fisherman, soldiers and spies. They spoke for hours, Jonas telling her about the world that she had never seen, and the secrets of the one she’d only known.

It thrilled her and warmed her, her once lonely existence bolstered by this new friendship with someone who engaged with her. They met as often as they can, and she pushed back when she returned to her room more and more, tempting the fates of being discovered. Still, Jonas was the one thing she looked forward to more than any other. She needed him.

The small girl sat in the middle of the tiny room, skirt puddled around her.  The dress was too small, but she didn’t really notice.  She’d worn it for too long, it was ‘normal’ by now.  As was the fact that despite her young age she sat alone in this room.  She’d learned to keep herself company, and occupied. Sometimes, it was making up stories in her head to go with the sounds she heard from up above.

The ship sailed through the seas nearly continuously, it’s missions centered on the small grouping of islands at least a days travel from the mainland.  These islands had traditionally been filled with fishermen, a small trade eeked out from the occasional ships that came to trade for exotic crafts, spices and fruits that couldn’t be found elsewhere.  The girl would gaze in fascination from her window when they approached the islands, her heart longing for the openness of the air and sea she saw.  She, of course, wasn’t allowed to go.

 The rocking of the ship beneath her and the shouts of men above were instead the familiar music of her life.  The sound of boots and creaking, and occasionally the call of sea birds filtered through the old boards and the one small window.  And at least once a day, sometimes more, the softer sound of footfalls on the wood outside her door, and the click of a lock and turning of a door knob.

 Her mother was a thin older blonde with a pale complexion that was enhanced with dots of rouge, her hair upswept in what as a child she’d thought was a classy updo laced with braids.  She came once a day with her share of food, usually some bread with a bit of cheese.  Dainty girls were prettier, she’d tell the child - both in response to protests that she was still -hungry- and the way that she gobbled down the food enthusiastically.

 Sometimes she would sleep, vivid dreams that the young child didn’t understand.  It mingled with the call of seabirds and the rhythmic rush of waves, the call of voices not the rougher tones of sailors but the melodious sounds of villagers going about their day with greetings and gossip.  The clink of glasses as an even smaller girl sat behind a bar playing with seashells.  Memories mixed with fancy, but a certain sort of comfort that made her pillow a nest of black glossy hair and a warm voice singing her lullabies.

 She was too young to know if that was past, or dreams, and too young to even think to sort it out.  Too young to think about how she got here, on this ship, with a thin blonde woman mismatched with her own olive skin and dark hair as her mother.  Locked in a small room on the seas, alone.  Too young, for now, to question.  Too young yet to be faced with the reality of her life, past and present.

She grew older steadily, and with it her curiousity and drive grew.  The sound of stomping boots and calling birds, the crash of the sea against the side of the boat became more than constant rhythms of her life, and began instead to tempt her.  The small round window in her room would open and for a while, she would stick her head out.  The only view this really afforded her was of the rolling waves that stretched onward to the horizon, forever it seemed.  And for some time, that was enough. 

The sea, her constant and steady companion.  She spoke to it like it was its own entity, imagined the lives of the fish she would spot leaping from the sun-tipped waves on bright days.  Longed even to be there, dancing with them.  The sea, with its tempestuous emotions - some days calm and lapping, rocking with comfort and assurance.  Other days tossing and huge, like it had been angered to the point of devouring any that dared brave it.  She laughed with the brightness, and even as small as she was shouted into the storms - her childish understanding of her own emotions vented to the only friend she knew.

Her mother came, and after the first time she was caught at the window she began to learn to hide herself.   There was no beating, only the beginning of what would become a familiar litany of the horrors the sea held.  Devastating creatures that would tear you to shreds, ghosts of the dead wavering beneath the surface waiting to drag her down.  She could sometimes see the huge shapes of whales breaching near the ship - these could swallow her whole without a thought.  Despite the threats, and the act of fear and obedience she put on after that, these tales only served to fascinate her more.  She longed to feel the water on her skin, the salt that gathered on her face a hint, she knew, of what it would be like.

Now, her mother would come once a ten-day or so, to escort her to her fathers cabin for a meal and a visit.  During these times she was expected to sit nicely, to answer when spoken to.  She was to be pleasant and quiet, and not fuss with the pretty braids her mother did her hair into.  The too-small dress was replaced on these occasions with something a touch too big for her but tied with a pretty ribbon around the waist to match the ones in her hair.  She felt pretty, and special just to be invited - feelings that were only enhanced by the lessons on behavior her mother gave, and the doting approval of her father when she was successful. 

The shouting voices above began to draw her curiousity more soundly during this time, especially with the glimpses she caught of rough-hewn men when she was led to her father's cabin.  The last straw, however, was the young boy she saw one evening.  Dark-haired and blue-eyed, he threw her a cheeky grin behind her mother's back when she turned her head to look back just before her mother jerked her to attention again.  She couldn’t stop thinking about him.

--------------------------------

The boy huffed when he saw her, but immediately reached down and grasped her by the arm to pull her up before she could be spied from below. She was moved to one side, and the boy tucked the dagger into his belt before he looked her over.

“What’cha doing up here? Girls don’ belong on ships.” He told her sternly. His skin was chapped red from being high up in the crows nest, exposed to the wildness of the wind. His hair was long and a deep brown, hidden underneath a rough wool cap in green.

“I came to find -you-.” The girl was unabashed in the proclamation, too excited at having found him and young to even try to hide it. She knew nothing but the ship, and glimpses of the rough men that lived on it. “My mother and I belong on the ship..”

“No. Th’ men say i’s bad luck, and we’ll be pulled into th’ sea by krakens...” The boy told her, though he gave a grin and a wink as he said it. Then he turned to look out at the sea, distracted by the novelty of the girl but mindful of his job. “Tch. You’re distractin’ me, I have t’ watch.” He told her importantly.

“What do you watch for? Krakens?”

“O’course. Other ships, land, storms.” He informed her. “Nothin’ a -girl- has to worry abou’. Yer gonna get me in trouble, ya know.” He said this, but he made no move to shoo her off, giving her another curious look.

She took one step, taking her to the far edge of the nest and next to him. Her vivid green eyes drifted out over the sea, her breath exhaling as a feeling of awe washed over her. She had known only the sea, and yet, she had never seen it like this. Vast and neverending, stretching out to the edge of the sky.

She was about to speak, when there was shouting from below. Men, calling back and forth, and then the sounds of flesh against flesh. Other men gathered as two of the sailors fought, the containment of such close living conditions erupting as it sometimes did into violence.

Green eyes widened, and then she flashed a smile and stepped to the ladder. She shimmied down for all the world like she did it regularly, and made her way across the ship. Daringly, she slid over the edge and down to her window, back inside and into her bedclothes.

The adventure thrilled her, the daring of escape and defiance lit a fire in her blood. She lay awake in bed for hours that night, far past when her mother checked on her. She heard the calls of the men changing watch, finally falling asleep to dreams of what might be held underneath the waves of what had once been her only friend, the sea. Now, there was the promise of Jonas.

Over the next few weeks, she came to know the boy in the crows nest. Every chance she got, she escaped her solitary room and met Jonas above deck, where he showed her all the secret places the ship held. The maze of the hold was their playground, and for once she did all the things a child might do.

One day, they played hide and seek, the smaller girl having a distinct advantage. She found all the tight, small places that anyone larger couldn’t access. She grew more and more daring, climbing the cargo, hiding inside of barrels and crates. Jonas warned her of the danger, once when he couldn’t find her and it took her nearly an hour to get out of a crate that had shifted on her entry. But that only made her more daring.

Playing make believe. She was a sailor, and Jonas taught her how to tie knots, how to keep watch and work the sails. They were patrons at a bar, they took turns being bards, fisherman, soldiers and spies. They spoke for hours, Jonas telling her about the world that she had never seen, and the secrets of the one she’d only known.

It thrilled her and warmed her, her once lonely existence bolstered by this new friendship with someone who engaged with her. They met as often as they can, and she pushed back when she returned to her room more and more, tempting the fates of being discovered. Still, Jonas was the one thing she looked forward to more than any other. She needed him.