Days had began running together. Work followed by blood followed by politics, day after day.
But then something happened to breathe life into the ship and crew. A storm, fierce as they come. I tried to warn the officers and they paid no mind to what I had to say. They likely knew it as well, but offered nothing in way of comfort, nothing to indicate a plan. When it happened I saw what I doubted this crew could ever do. They came together and worked towards a common goal with what from an outside eye could be mistaken for solidarity.
Barefoot Sam went over-board during the torrent of water and wind. Rumal and I were the first act. He secured a line to and I jumped in. It was nothing I hadn’t done a million times before. When I reached her, I could tell she didn’t have long. She had lost all energy to fight the sea and was beginning to sink beneath the surface. I was able to grab hold of her and Rumal pulled us in. She was grateful for us saving her life. Though she has it in her mind that it was I alone who made the difference between an eternal rest at sea and walking once again on the decks of the Wormwood. I tried to tell her otherwise, but she seems convinced.
Several of us were sent out to collect crabs from among the reefs, including Rumal. True to our race, we had no troubles traversing the terrain. We were attacked by some form of creature, which proved to be very troublesome. If not for Franceen, there is no way we all would have made it back. Franceen loved the chance to get out from the ship. To swim free and hunt. She made sport of our attackers and playfully swam back with one in her grasp. It was as if she wanted to be the one to get all the credit for these kills.
Life on the Wormwood is bearable, though I still worry that the worst is yet to come. That there are dark trials that lay ahead and there will come a time when we return significantly less intact. Or find that some of us, don’t return at all.