Kisara stood, the half-shattered jawbone gripped tightly in her hands, breathing heavily. That had actually worked. Gods, it worked! She was being drenched in the sticky, sickly glop raining from the now-motionless corpse, but totally worth it. That had been . . . epic was the only word she could supply.<br/><br/>But she turned around, hearing the cheers of the men (<em>your men</em>, the voice inside her head whispered), beaming a bright smile. They'd come up against something wretched, terrible, and they'd survived, they were alive, and the captain . . . shit.<br/><br/>She wasn't thinking about the sigil on her forehead as she rushed over, seeming to be on the far side of the deck one moment, then almost teleporting to where the other woman was lying. "The ship has a doctor, right?"  Dragons, let him not have been one of the ones the sharkmen killed. "Get him, now," she said to one of the men who was standing and staring in shock at the bleeding gash that appeared to have nearly severed the captain's lower leg. He blinked at her, and she snarled, "Run, man! Unless you want her to bleed out here!"<br/><br/>Looking over the side, she sighed inwardly. Now there was another problem. She didn't trust the pale woman in the tattered dress, but it wouldn't be right to leave them. She gathered up the rope the crew had used to pull the captain back up and tossed it over the side, leaning after it to call down to the woman, "I'll come down and help you up, if you promise me you - and he - mean no harm to the people on this vessel."