Night fell gently over the Dead Sheep.
The rain hadn't stopped, but it had lost its malice. The deck glistened, and the lanterns cast pools of gold across the railings.
Inside the galley, warmth gathered in soft circles. Food clinked. Cups passed hands. The whole crew wasn't talking loudly, but they were talking. They were together.
Arthur sat beside the window, fingers wrapped around a cup Lyn had passed him. He hadn't spoken in a while, but he hadn't recoiled from company either. Lyn didn't say much either. She just sat nearby, watching the light play across his pale knuckles.
Fedlimid leaned against the doorframe, dry now, though the rain had left marks on his shoulders like old scars. His arms were folded. He was watching them with the quiet vigilance of someone still on edge.
Beli was last to join. He carried a carving tool and a half-marked wooden tile. Set it down, picked up a cup, sat like he'd never moved at all.
