Sagramore (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
sagramore) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
theunholycause2025-04-08 08:50 am
sagramore) wrote in theunholycause2025-04-08 08:50 am
[episode seven -- the new world]
In the end, by pawning the necklace the girl from the other world gave them, they're able to buy passage on a ship from Greycove up the coast, where they board another ship that takes them across the small sea to Dana. It cuts their journey by weeks, and means they're sheltered for the worst of the last winter storms, rather than camping out in the elements.
Sagramore, it turns out, still gets seasick. He spends most of both voyages either clinging queasily to the railing of the ship and vomiting over the side, or hiding belowdecks in his wolf body, curled up in a tight circle with his nose buried in his fur. Sometimes Szarka lies alongside him loyally, but she loves following Laertes around, too, barking at the ship's cat and chasing the gulls that settle on the railing and go up in a white flurry when she dashes towards them. Despite her best efforts, she never manages to herd them anywhere. Laertes, meanwhile, seems born to the sea, and the sailors all warm to him quickly. They tell him tales of the worst monsters they've encountered in the waters, and invite him to patrol the decks late at night in case of any unexpected encounters; a few offer him tobacco and other, less wholesome substances.
When they finally reach the port city in Dana, Sagramore's more than ready to get shut of the ship forever; it's all he can do not to transform and bound down the gangway. Now that he's gotten so fluent at shifting between shapes, he does struggle not to change his ears or his nose just to get a better vantage, and when Laertes grins at him as they light on shore again his tail almost rips through his trousers to start wagging.
Faborg is a charming city. The streets are full of people in spite of the cold spring -- more people than Sagramore has seen in one place for a long time, at least outside of a city like Castletown of the North. The houses and shops are painted cheery colors, and everywhere there are smells of good food and hot drinks, vendors on the corners of each block. It doesn't look like a place that's been ravaged by monsters, although there are a few tell-tale signs: new paving in the streets that covers up old craters, new builds amongst the antiquated architecture. The druids' shops advertise amulets and protective spells.
It's easy to find an inn. The proprietor winks at Sagramore as she writes their names in her ledger, and taps the side of her nose. "A homecoming, eh?"
Sagramore, it turns out, still gets seasick. He spends most of both voyages either clinging queasily to the railing of the ship and vomiting over the side, or hiding belowdecks in his wolf body, curled up in a tight circle with his nose buried in his fur. Sometimes Szarka lies alongside him loyally, but she loves following Laertes around, too, barking at the ship's cat and chasing the gulls that settle on the railing and go up in a white flurry when she dashes towards them. Despite her best efforts, she never manages to herd them anywhere. Laertes, meanwhile, seems born to the sea, and the sailors all warm to him quickly. They tell him tales of the worst monsters they've encountered in the waters, and invite him to patrol the decks late at night in case of any unexpected encounters; a few offer him tobacco and other, less wholesome substances.
When they finally reach the port city in Dana, Sagramore's more than ready to get shut of the ship forever; it's all he can do not to transform and bound down the gangway. Now that he's gotten so fluent at shifting between shapes, he does struggle not to change his ears or his nose just to get a better vantage, and when Laertes grins at him as they light on shore again his tail almost rips through his trousers to start wagging.
Faborg is a charming city. The streets are full of people in spite of the cold spring -- more people than Sagramore has seen in one place for a long time, at least outside of a city like Castletown of the North. The houses and shops are painted cheery colors, and everywhere there are smells of good food and hot drinks, vendors on the corners of each block. It doesn't look like a place that's been ravaged by monsters, although there are a few tell-tale signs: new paving in the streets that covers up old craters, new builds amongst the antiquated architecture. The druids' shops advertise amulets and protective spells.
It's easy to find an inn. The proprietor winks at Sagramore as she writes their names in her ledger, and taps the side of her nose. "A homecoming, eh?"