Isabeau might have taken her first mate's advice, had she not been so deep into the throws of her magic that the conscious world was little more than a vague tickling at the back of her mind. The storm was what consumed her; she dug fingers of her magic into the knots of cloud and wind and sea and started unraveling, tugging and weaving and braiding and unbraiding in a desperate effort to get them to the edge of the bad weather.
She wasn't sure how long she stayed in her trance- time was sort of fluid when she was like this- but eventually she felt the old girl begin to settle beneath her feet, the rain on her face softening to a dull patter and the screech of the wind dying down to an almost cheerful sort of whistle.
With a gasp the weatherwitch opened her eyes to find herself still balanced precariously on the rail of the deck. Her face was pale and gaunt, eyes weary, but her lips curved up in the shadow of a smile as she twisted to take stock and realized they'd made it through the storm with her crew intact. Thank the gods.
The Storm was a little worse for wear, as was her crew, but they'd survived. Sails were torn, a chunk of deck rail was missing, looked like Crag had fucked up his arm somehow, maybe dislocated it... Wait, shouldn't he be at the wheel?
Gar was at the helm. When had that happened? "Oi, sailor." She raised an eyebrow at him and teased as she started toward the helm, "You gave you permission to sail my ship- whoa."
All that magic had taken more of a toll than she'd realized. She'd barely taken two steps before her wobbly knees gave out and she slumped onto the deck. Her vision flickered, came back, then went fuzzy and dark around the edges. "Um..." She blinked rapidly, trying to clear her head. "I- I had a witty comment, but I can't seem to recall it," she laughed breathlessly, then gave a little yelp as she suddenly found herself pitching sideways to come to a complete swoon across the deck.
Well. This was embarrassing.