"...so, can't rightly say I'm<em>used</em>to this sorta thing," Zavros said in a hushed voice, "but the folks in the village figured I oughta learn how to at least try." He steadied his arm against the starboard side of the clipper, a large wooden plank in his other readied as an impromptu oar if it was needed. "That said, this place is right spooky, isn't it?" A part of him was trying to fill the silence with words, more out of nervous energy than a need to talk...<br/><br/>...because this place really did scare the wits out of him if he didn't focus.<br/><br/>As he glanced over at his new companions - the woman whose name felt more appropriate than most, and her erstwhile companion - he marveled at how in the course of a day and a half, his life had taken such a drastic turn. From a humble smith, a son of farmers, to...what Mouse had referred to as a 'smith god.' It wasn't a term he was too enthused about, but he really couldn't think of what else to call himself. Not just rebuilding the farm, but also rebuilding the very vessel they were standing on, that was gliding silently across the mirror-still waters, out of nothingness.<br/><br/>At this point, Zavros was just wondering how else today would turn out weirdly. The spooky island in the distance was a good start...