That was very definitely the last straw in Mouse's increasingly-desperate attempts to be merely<em>worried</em>that Zavros was something powerful and exceptional.<br/><br/>Perhaps it was still the Chosen One in her, that made her think that she had been the only one worthy of such grace. Or perhaps the breaking of that faith, fervently maintaining there was no such thing as destiny.<br/><br/>As she looked on with her arms crossed, watching him work, she finally shook her head.<em>You're like me, aren't you,</em>is what she wanted to say.<br/><br/>"I don't know why somebody's smith god got dropped in my lap, but I'll take it," is what she said, pacing a circle around the miraculously-restored boat to inspect his handiwork, even though she didn't know enough except to know that it no longer had holes in it and looked more like she imagined a boat ought to.<br/><br/>"Well, if you have nowhere else to be, and you don't mind getting into a fight with some very powerful and unpleasant people," she knocked on the side of the boat, "welcome aboard? Or should you be saying that to me?"<br/><br/>Of course, she didn't know how to<em>sail</em>, either. She hoped he did...