Of all the places in the world, they had to harbor in Britain. A common saying among the Darak'ki was "Celebrate your victories, remember your defeats." Black Rock and England weren't on the best terms, and Adilah shared those sentiments. Silly sentiments really, since this was all from far before her time, but it was instilled into her for as long as she could remember. The British are not to be trusted. For that reason, you would never find her setting foot on British soil, unless ordered to do so directly by Redmane himself or when it was alongside her Black Rock brothers and sisters for the inevitable retribution.<br/><br/>Adilah sat at the bow of the ship, slowly working a whetstone across her Stros blade, to little avail. The blade was already as sharp as it would get, but there was little else she could do. She'd already sharpened every other blade she could get her hands on, and most people were out and about doing other chores, so a bit of sparring was out of the question as well. The sooner they'd leave this place, the better.<br/><br/>The cold British weather wasn't doing her any good either, still dressed in her traditional Darak'ki clothing, she stood out like a sore thumb. Pride prevented her from changing into anything more practical. She saw the gloomy weather of Brittain as a punishment by Anat, and Anat would surely protect her from this punishment.<br/><br/>Adilah sighed heavily and once more brought the whetstone across the blade with a little bit too much force, the stone cracked and snapped in two, causing her hand to slice along her blade.<b>Yam'nahar!"</b>She cursed as she quickly brought the hand to her mouth. She scowled and cursed inwardly, a stupid mistake, she'd gotten careless from being stir crazy. She could clearly taste the coppery taste of her blood, and as she pulled her hand from her mouth, she saw a large gash along the length of her hand, bleeding quite profoundly. Wiggling her fingers, she found no pain or discomfort, it was just a superficial cut, though a nasty one at that.<br/><br/>She got up from her little spot and looked around, looking for Deacon. She didn't quite trust him, but then again, she didn't trust anybody, but he had the tools she needed. This cut wasn't going to just close itself, this was going to need stitches. She spotted the man standing next to Katherine. She stepped up to the two, applying pressure on the gash to prevent it from bleeding too much.<b>"Hey, Doc..."</b>While she had been raised to speak the common, English tongue, her Black Rock accent was still very rich<b>"Katherine..."</b>She quickly added with a smile and a nod to the much younger girl.<b>"...could I borrow your medical kit for a moment?"</b>She couldn't bear to watch the man in the eyes and honestly just wanted him to give her the stuff and be off. The idea that she, a Darak'ki warrior, had cut herself on her own blade... Well, at the time she couldn't quite come up with a more embarrassing situation.<b>"I euhm, had a little accident."</b>Holding up her bleeding hand as if the man would need any more proof, a few dark red drops were already falling onto the deck.<div class="messageTextEndMarker"> </div>