Though the low rumble of thunder and the dance of lightning chased crimson arousal from Eira's senses, she dared to cover Lily's lips with a last kiss, inexplicably thrilling at the taste of herself there. Then, hurriedly, she dressed -- pulling the disheveled shirt back on over her head, tugging her breeches back up, stepping into her boots, and re-fastening her swordbelt about her waist.<span style="color: magenta">"Stay here,"</span>she whispered, urgently, to the Aviari woman.<span style="color: magenta">"I'm going to see what's happening up on deck."</span><br/><br/>She lurched up the steps from the hold out into bedlam: the crew was already working desperately to wrestle the ship through the unnatural weather, and despite weeks of trying to pick up the rudiments of seamanship she found herself utterly in the way. But something, to her trained eyes, was wrong: there was no sign of either Darion or W'ineton up on deck, and<i>that</i>, at least, was something she could remedy. She sprinted across the quarterdeck to the door to the captain's cabin, and began hammering a fist on it.<span style="color: magenta">"Captain! Miss W'ineton! We need..."</span><br/><br/>Those words died on her lips when a fragment of conversation reached her through the door and over the din of the storm:<b>"...demon that was masquerading..."</b>She drew her elegantly curved longsword, stepped back, and -- ready to face whatever horror lay within -- put all her weight behind a savage kick of the closed door.<div class="messageTextEndMarker"> </div>