"Of course not. I'm not given to pranks. Either is Chiron, I think... though given how many times Harris has sent him running, he may just be." He stepped up next to her, one arm folded behind his back and the other across his front. His braid, uncut now for years, hung over the arm in front in a graceful loop. Ethan found that he enjoyed Amal's company much more than he did her brother. Where Augustin was stuffy, bureaucratic, and in Ethan's humble opinion in need of a swift kick, Amal was just... pleasant. He had known of her, more from Chiron's stories than actual experience, and when the time had come to depart and he found her on the dock alongside his foreign friend he hadn't hesitated to welcome her along.<br/><br/>Either way, he enjoyed that he could simply stand in comfortable silence with her, as he did then. He simply watched the island grow near as he heard the thump and rummage of their companions stirring, allowing the sea breeze to wash over him. After a moment he glanced at her. "Rumor has it that a powerful black mage resides on Besaid. I know it's not really my business, but I can't help some curiosity. Is that why you're going so far south?" He paused a beat, and one side of his mouth curled in a wry smirk. "Or is it just how badly you want to get away from that twit brother of yours?"<br/><br/>Behind them the cabin door burst open and Chiron swaggered out, stretching and yawning explosively. The foreign man was of average height, shorter than Harris but an inch or so taller than Ethan, and his head was shaved entirely bald. In place of hair a series of geometric shapes had been tattooed across his olive-tan scalp, which with some difficulty Ethan had figured out was some sort of oath from his homeland. His clothes were sparse even by Spiran standards, a simple fold of fabric with a hole in the center for his head and held together with a belt. It had been a trial to get the man to embrace underclothes, but the triumph had been palpable when it occurred. Alongside that he wore simple metal bracers on both arms and sandals made of soft leather that wrapped up to his knees. At his hip, ever present, was his sword, which he named Atilla. The sword was the only thing Ethan had ever seen Chiron become truly upset over; at all other times the man was nothing if not boisterous.<br/><br/>Ethan turned away as he staggered to the rail and yanked up his tunic flap to relieve himself into the sea. There was nothing<i>wrong</i>with the human form, but he didn't particularly want to look at it. A moment later the self-proclaimed myrmidon swaggered up to them and hooked his arm around Ethan's neck, shading his eyes to peer ahead. "Ah! Bees-aid, yes? Our journey is to start!" He grinned ferociously at the two of them, and Ethan smiled despite himself.<br/><br/>"Just so, Chiron. So far we've just been getting there. It starts in earnest the moment we set foot in Besaid's temple."