The girl had to grab the fox back from the bow when Donovan abruptly veered the small craft back away from the dock, sending them off on an unexpected course.<em>But...!</em>the fox said, stretching its forelegs out over Aza's arm in the direction it had meant to jump, disappointed despite how it had just been saved from a certain dunk in the lake.<br/><br/>The reshuffling of various groups on the shore proved Dean correct; the foursome's arrival had been anticipated.<em><strong>Five</strong>some</em>, reminded the fox. "I don't know that you are counted," mused Aza, as they slid through the wakes of the other maritime traffic towards the last pier.<em>If the ship should count, extra foxes count,</em>the fox decided. "If they must," conceded the girl, lifting the little animal up so it could leap to the wet boards of the dock as soon as they neared and Don dropped the sail with a lurch.<br/><br/>The fox shook itself, and with tail puffed and ears flat back, began to skulk down the dock to meet their erstwhile attackers, its morning shadow trailing long from its paws and seeming to blackly lurk.<em>Yessss, come to play,</em>it hissed, just as it managed to catch the leader's eye with its own glittering blue gaze... only to have Donovan march right past and, brandishing an oar like a broadsword, send bodies tumbling and crashing to the water with an efficient series of sweeping blows. He easily fielded the few that managed to come within stabbing reach, and, within moments, had the pier newly bloodspattered but cleared. The fox blinked, looking down at the men now thrashing in the shallow surf, then glanced back to the General -- who (or whose armor) was probably also feeling cheated of a fight -- and Dean -- who was obviously having some sort of self-referential meta-crisis back in the boat.<br/><br/>Then girl-Aza scooped the fox up in the crook of one arm mid-stride and pulled her cloak around them both as she went forward, sidestepping Don and chunks of broken oar on their way to solid land. Land, and the confusion of the crowd... where one very petite, very hooded figure would have a much more evasively simpler time than one tall armored man, one equally tall armored woman, and Dean. Assuming he recovered enough from his sentimental malaise to make it to shore.