It had been about ten day since Lela was found on the beach; assumingly dead. Between the adequate care of young Stephane, cleaning and dressing her irritated sucker shaped wounds, and her daily prayers to Umberlee, Lela felt stiff and limping, but on the mend; able to walk the deck at least. She found herself anchored in a small port about 3 days outside of Havensport. They anchored a few hundred yards from shore, and the captain would row in to trade fish and gather resources. These frontier settlements were starting to pop up all along the coast. Lela stayed on the boat though, she was still in pain, and the last thing she wanted to do was raise any eyebrows.
Lela’s contemplation was broken by her young medic. In her deep thought, he had sidled up next to her and leaned over the rail in almost a mimicking fashion, looking towards the little fishing port.
“It’s quaint. Quiet. Charming. It’s just a nice little village”
Lela looked the young man up and down. He was young. He still blushed and averted his eyes if Lela disrobed to change the bandage. His frame was thin; his clothes tattered; but his eyes. He had a genuine kindness that Lela thought was so rare.
“I guess so…” she responded lightly. Understanding that the young man just wanted to break the silent tension.
“I make up stories sometimes... “ he didn't look at Lela, but she figured he was talking out loud just to kill the silence.
“Dad will row into shore to stock and sell, and I’ll stay here. When I finish up chores I watch people, or even just the windows and lights if we’re too far out, and make up stories.
“Those ones are happy...”
“The baker loves the guard…”
“The guard?... Ooh risque”. Lela finally turned her head. And gave the young caretaker a brief and disarming smile. He blushed and looked back to the port.
Lela really was grateful. Between all the prayers and sleeping off her bought with the horror, she understood that this young, awkward boy, who is skilled enough to dress a wound, but not trusted to haul in a net by his father, saved her life.
“Make up a story about me,” She smiled as she prodded the young ward verbally. She leaned against the railing backwards, propping herself on her elbows.
“Wha-” he cocked his head like a gull
“Make up a story about me. I wont be mad, I’m curious. It’ll be fun!”
Lela turned her back on the shore and leaned against the railing.
“I don't care what fishing stories your da’ has. (slipping into a mocking country brogue) Look at me and tell me a’ story bout me’self!
“It's been almost a tenday. And you haven't told me how you got your wounds. But it was big. Too big. You're brave or stupid or somethin between em...”
She smiled and inclined her head at him to continue.
“You worship the sea, but you don't fear it...”
“What makes you say that?” she chuckled.
She worked hard to keep her smile disarming, the boy was opening up.
“I almost died...” she added.
Ive been changing your bandages for a tenday, and in all that time, you've only asked questions, mainly “When can I get in the water?”
When he spoke for her he mocked her higher disarming voice pretty well.
She raised an eyebrow in challenge and they both let out an honest chuckle.
There was a comfortable silence for a moment, and Lela crossed to a small locker by the rail to sit down.
Stephane crossed to the small mast about 10 feet from Lela and sat against it on the deck.
“You don't necessarily trust anyone but you’re good at faking it.”
There were several long beats of silence as Lela exhaled through her pursed lips.
“Hells kid,what makes you say that?”
“No insult intended Lee, just; I don’t know, I can see it. When someone talks you watch their eyes and hands… not their mouths... and when the oars fell over the other night you grabbed your boot knife like the city guard was coming to hang you.
“Hmpf” she sat motionless and looked at the deck
“Sorry... if that was mean…” he started, but she quickly interrupted
“No you’re spot on right kid. I mean… Damn.”
They sat like that for a moment, a long moment, until Lela needed to diffuse the young man’s skilled analysis.
“Hey Steph, I'll tell you about the time my old shipmate Sebastion mistook a pod of dolphins for a school a’ mermaid?”
The night faded into stories, like the lamplight of the distant town, the only sound to be heard was the listing of the ship.
