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⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯ °• ☼ CHAPTER FOURTEEN: THE MERMAID'S LAMENT ☾ •°⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯
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"SEE ANYTHING, SAILOR?" Jeran called up to her, the playful jest in his tone making Nesaela smile. She tightened her grip around the ropes on either side of her and leaned further over the mainmast's edge, letting the ropes hold her from falling, feet hung back on wood and shoulders and head craning over open air like the figurehead of a ship. From up where she was, the sea glinted like a sea of sapphire gemstones from Qarth. There was wind in her face, ruffling against her clothes and caressing against her skin. Before, when she'd closed her eyes, she'd felt like she was on a dragon's back as it soared through the stars.
"Nothing!" she called down, tilting her head against the soft wind so her voice would reach him. She wrapped the rope once again around her wrist with careful fingers. "Only the sea! Not for leagues and leagues." Her eyes searched the deep, dark water for any creatures which dwelled there: pink-nosed dolphins or krakens or underdwellers, but spotted nothing of the sort. "Only some waterweed to the helm's left!" she called down as she sighted the green leafy weed floating above the in the sunlight. Jeran diligently tilted the wheel so the boat steered gracefully around the grasping plants which loved to suck boats beneath the waves.
Nesaela sat down on the topgallant sail mast, which ran horizontally across the ship, and let one of her legs dangle over the edge. The waves and sea-spray couldn't reach her up her, and the sun was warm, gentle and inviting.
"Are you going to come back down here, little spider?" Jeran called to her.
She smiled, shaking her head so her hair fell around her in a wave of white, "I like it up here. The day is still warm." Jeran chuckled and agreed, turning back to mapping out the sea and studying some ancient accounts of sailors.
After several minutes in the scorching evening sun, she scampered back down the wooden mast, using only her hands and bare feet and a few ropes to hold her. The deck creaked beneath her feet in vague familiarity as she made her way across the ship. She took the map from the dining table and laid it out on the top deck. With bowed legs, Nessie bent over the map to peer at the scrawling lines and scattered watercolours, dragging her finger across the ocean path they were taking with a bow-bent finger.
