Pyla was concernedly quiet the entire journey back to their home base. 
When they got back, Pyla took care of her camel, and then headed to her room. Her arm was throbbing.



Once Pyla got to her own room, she practically collapsed onto her bed, letting her knapsack just fall onto the floor.  Anger was building in her.
She just wanted to scream at herself. She had failed. She had almost gotten both her and Jelani killed. And she lost a hand, potentially hindering her ability to fight. 
Pyla angrily sat up.
And then there were the relentless memories. 
She just wanted to forget the last few days.
She wanted to forget those awful men. She wanted to forget everything.  She let out an angry, painful yell. 
"I'm useless!" she angrily yelled to the empty room. Pyla stood up and grabbed her knapsack that had fallen on the floor and angrily launched it at the opposite side of the room, the knapsack hitting the wall with a crash. 
"Fucking USELESS!"
And she collapsed to her knees with an angry yell before breaking down into sobbing.


Zephyr had watched the whole thing happen and anxiously flew off to find Jelani.

"Believe me," he chuckled into her hair, "I am, too." And he hoped it was a permanent solution and not just a bandage tied tightly over a gushing wound that would look promising for a time before blood began spreading across the muslin. But, he needed to take his own advice and not dwell on the what ifs or the questions that still lingered.

So, he pulled back slightly and lifted her chin so he could look into her eyes. As he gazed down at her, he couldn't help that goofy smile that spread across his lips again – that uncontrollable kind of smile that only appears in moments of intense happiness – the kind that lights up eyes and sets one's skin on fire. He leaned forward and kissed her so deeply that he could forget everything except the feel of her for a time. It was a kiss so passionate, so joyful, that nothing else mattered – not his death and resurrection, not his mother, not this weird horror story of a house....just her.

And then a pointed throat clearing interrupted his revere and he was forced to pull away and look up at the tattooed man who had come to spirit Cora away. He was back, alone this time, and had the look of someone who had been sent on the worst kind of chore imaginable.

"Come." His voice was gruff and gravely, "Your rooms are this way. The Lady's orders."

Faraji was tired, but decorum dictated that he not show that weakness. Even if they were married he wouldn't want to appear weak before her as it was his place to maintain order and calm lest he be labeled weak. And being weak in this cutthroat world would only invite trouble.

So, instead of backing away and refusing to speak to her about the concerns listed on her face, instead of telling her to go rest so he, in turn, could also rest – he nodded curtly at her request. At a quick tilt of his head, the servants dispersed.

"Come." His words were soft, but it was a demand nonetheless, and he turned to lead her back into his own chambers. Upon seeing them, his father stood and bowed deeply before exiting the room without so much as a word. He understood when words were needed and recognized that this was not the moment for pleasantries.

And then, they were alone.

Faraji motioned for Ibra to take a seat, but did not move to sit himself. Instead, he stood by his desk with its overflowing papers and bits of spilled ink – an unusual sight for someone who prided himself on cleanliness and order.

"I'm listening." He stood tall with his hands clasped behind his back as he waited for whatever bombshell she was about to drop – fully expecting her to reject him again and leave forever.

Theo furrowed his brow in concern but decided against pushing the issue. Instead he chose to sit down at his piano to play. While Neal worked his magic, Theo played his. He picked something soft and soulful to play, a piece that spoke of gentle hope. It was hardly fitting for the time of year but was less mournful than some of the things he had been playing of late. He kept his fingers light upon the keys so as to not derail the conversations around him. But with his back to Fletcher he was kept from staring at the man for better or for worse.

Was he sick? His coat still needed repairing or replacing now with the damaged warming charms upon it. Add the drinking and the having barely slept the night before and of course Fletcher had caught some nasty humor that sought to settle into his lungs and bones. He would have to remember later to order up some tea for drinking and herbs for burning to help the man fight it out of his system before it could take deeper root.

To the side, Edwina continued her lessons. She relaxed quickly in the other man's presence and seemed completely unbothered by the fact that her fiancé was not only right there but deaf to her advances. In fact she took Theo's bait easily and was soon making jokes and lightly touching Neal with a sense of companionship. She shoved his shoulder or tapped his hand, laughed too loud or too long and continuously leaned in towards him as if hanging on his every word. 

"Of course, Miss," Neal simpered. Ignoring Fletcher's coughing fit entirely, he slunk over to join her where she sat. He was careful to leave a respectful distance between them, but already Fletch could see the little signals that his kind knew to display: legs pointed towards her, head tilted the same direction, mirroring her expression. Good. The man was doing what he was paid for.

Fletch turned to Theo, still rather irritated about all that he'd seen the man do. "No, no, I'm fine, I'm fine. It's nothing. Probably just dust or the cold or something." He glanced reflexively at his sleeve, but once again there was nothing there, and his concern eased again. It occurred to him that he'd never told Theo about those dark years when he'd been on the verge of succumbing to a disease that was half his fault and half a fact of life. If it came back, would it be his fault again? Or was it just inevitable?

He shook himself mentally and tried to put it out of his mind. It wasn't back. There wasn't any blood. Any fatigue he'd experienced lately was more than likely from the excessive drinking. And the cough was a smoker's cough, and the cold had just made it worse as it always did. That was all. Still, he looked distant and preoccupied as he picked the book back up and resumed his inspection of the ship drawing. He wondered if he should tell the man. Maybe not now. Maybe some day.

"No, not at all. Why don't you come sit by me and I'll show you the letters. You...can read normally yes?"

Theo bit his tongue and closed his eyes for a moment to not have to process the conversation happening in front of him. When he reopened them it was to see all eyes on Fletcher and the man in the throes of another coughing fit.

"Are you...alright? Would you like some water?"

Neal shot an uneasy look at Fletcher as though he didn't realize what he'd actually signed up for until that moment. "Of course," he replied. "I've been told I'm a quick learner. That is, if it wouldn't be any trouble to you, Miss."

Fletch had returned his attention to the book and made a point of leaning back into the chaise and grunting as he settled in. At Theo's second jab, though, his eyebrow twitched and his eye flashed murderously. He scoffed, then remembered himself and tried to pass it off as a coughing fit. And then it really did turn into a coughing fit, and he shut the book altogether and leaned into his sleeve, holding a finger up as he did.

"Fuck," he mumbled, sniffling and resuming that same relaxed position. "Ugh. 'Pologies Miss. Sir. Dunno what came over me."

"I should hope so," he replied. "It is meant to be my main language. Now Mr. Truckett see that you learn well unlike Mr. Daw here. Lady Obower is practically a master at this point in her skills. It would be beneficial to me if my staff could actually communicate with me properly after all."

"Oh Teddy," she simpered, "wouldn't you rather keep it just our little thing?"

"And hurt poor Mr. Truckett's feelings? Of course not my dear. He looks like he's actually pay you plenty mind in his lessons unlike some people."

It took everything within Kaela not to bolt for the den and just never come out of the den ever again. Only thing stopping her from doing that was the fact she had no idea how to get back without Raxta. 
So she walked quietly next to Raxta, the quietest she had ever been. 
Mentally Kaela was kicking herself. Why'd she have to go and say that? 

In the distance, thunder could be heard rumbling through the clouds, and the wind was beginning to pick up, whistling through the tops of the trees.

They got back to Raxta's den. Whether it was because of the impending thunderstorm or because the sun had sunk low enough to cast the jungle into shadowy dusk, it was now quite dark. Occasional flashes of lightning could be seen through the dense jungle foliage, and Kaela uneasily muttered a curse at whichever god chose to gift the jungle with a storm. She hated, absolutely hated thunder. 
Kaela ducked inside of the den and stood near the entrance, waiting while Raxta retrieved clothes. 
"I...I can sleep outside"—a loud crash of thunder interrupted her sentence, and Kaela jumped, right into Raxta's arms.

Oh. The signing. 

He shouldn't have allowed it: that sick and burning jealousy. It's fake, he reminded himself. It's all fake. He tried to use his memories of Theo's touch as a ward against it, but even those didn't entirely keep him from glaring at the two. What was the man thinking, letting her in on this? Why'd he keep encouraging it? Never mind the hit they were taking to how useful a secret language could be right now. It shouldn't have been happening at all. Not with that ungrateful, two-faced brat.

By the time Theo had addressed him, Fletcher regarded the illustration of the cargo fluyt with intense and sour contempt. His eye slid off the page to rest on the nobleman. "Wouldn't know, sir. I've barely learned the basics. That's more your area of expertise, really." He lowered the book and glanced over at Neal. "Could be useful, though, ey?"

The man smiled, first at him, and then more broadly at Edwina. "Certainly. Consider this bodyguard your humble student, Miss Edwina."