Testament-Blaze came back, all right. He looked just as battered and bruised as Willow remembered him from the dream … only worse. But he seemed to be in awfully good spirits for his whole ordeal. Maybe it was simply because he was still alive. He didn't even seem to mind at all that Captain Merryweather had sold off all of his little books and pamphlets to the Gallees for a tidy profit. He seemed a little disappointed that the heavy tome – hand-written and hand-illustrated – that he used to carry around was sold as well, but he soon got over that. His robes and armor, his bits of "garbage", and various other things – gone. All that remained was his helmet … which the captain gave back to Willow – with stern instructions that he didn't want any of the crew to see it, and especially not being worn by "Towel-Head" around the ship.

There was an uncomfortable moment when a part-bloodhound Gallah – who actually spoke Rephidim Standard – informed the captain that he had smelled a hint of yorspice on some of the goods that Suprier le Chien had purchased, and that the head mongrel would like to purchase what stocks that Captain Merryweather had. The captain insisted that he had no yorspice, that he had sold it all on his last stop. The Gallah seemed satisfied with this and left … but Willow afterward caught the captain muttering to no one in particular about how Olympians would offer much higher prices for yorspice than any Gallisian mutts would.

Nobody yet has decided to pick on the cheetah priest again … but he looks like someone who's been to Dagh's Domain and back … and the airship hasn't even left port yet, though it's supposed to shove off any minute now. Last word was that the captain was having some trouble with the port authority, and was grumbling about just how much grease paws seem to require around here. Ironically, the helmet hasn't made him much happier – He had stowed it temporarily in the hold by just perching it on top of some crates. Just a few minutes ago, a slight mishap in preparations to lift off caused the whole ship to list suddenly to one side in port … and down below, the helmet fell and smashed a few containers of ointment and perfume. Little Reed and Morning-Mist are presently down there, trying to clean up the resultant mess.

It's nightfall now, and the ship is already well behind schedule because of delays, but the captain seems determined to take off at first opportunity for safer ports – Olympia, to be exact, a Kattha-dominated county wedged between Bosch and the Lake of Langour, and home to lots of pretty ruins. (It's often the subject of 'classical' artwork, and a favorite tourist destination for wealthy Rephidimites. Perhaps that's how he plans to unload all these Gallisian wines, perfumes and other minor luxury items. They also happen to have a small amount of slavery there, unlike most Nordikan countries.)

The wounded (and dead) of the crew have been tended to, pretty much, giving Willow enough time to rest up a bit, and even to write a bit, in order to sort out her thoughts. Testament-Blaze is probably in the sick room, resting up a bit himself. Burr was helping with the crew, but once they decided he wasn't needed, he was sent to running about and doing other errands – such as fetching some food for Willow after her long state of unconsciousness. The footsteps at the door hint at his arrival, and an interruption to Willow's solitude.

The Skreek crumples the papers she's been scribbling upon and scoots up in bed. "Come on in, Burr… just don't breathe too loudly. Ow."

The door timidly creeps open, admitting a large cheetah who backs his way into the room, using his hands to carry in a tray with standard fare.

"Close the door behind you and have a seat. We need to talk." She pats a spot on her nailed down dressing table for the tray. "And no, you're not in trouble."

The cheetah closes the door with his foot, then sets the tray down on the dressing table. He takes special care to keep it well away from the edge of the dresser, in case the ship lurches again.

Burr then sits down on the floor and looks at the Skreek.

Willow runs a hand through her raven-black hair. "Great… Now I have to scruddy come up with a way to tell you. It's a lot easier throwing bottles at people." She sighs. "You know how I've been sleeping for about a day and then Testy came back? Well… I think I need to explain what happened while I was konked out."

Burr nods slowly at the "You know how I've been sleeping for a day… " part, then looks confused while Willow tries to find words to put to her thoughts.

"I had a dream – a dream where I had a nice little dinner with Tyrne Dagh… and I asked him help me free Testament-Blaze. Then when I wake up, there he is." She folds her arms across her legs, forgetting her dinner for now. "And now I owe him a favor apparently."

Burr blinks, then scratches his head. He looks lost already.

"I bloody well made a deal with Dagh to get Testament-Blaze freed. Does that make any sense to you?" Willow cups her face in a hand and sighs loudly.

"Bad dream?" signs Burr.

The Skreek shrugs. "But Testy made it back. I saw some of his trial… Maybe I won't know for sure until I talk to him – but for now, Burr, I don't think it was a bad dream."

Burr signs, "Just dream. Dagh not real. Monsters real, but Dagh not."

"What makes you say that, Burr?" Willow rubs the back of one hand absently.

Burr pauses, pondering. Then he signs, "Hope?"

"Then what was Punja?" The Skreek sighs. "A monster? Monsters don't have nice conversations with you… "

Burr slumps in defeat.

"Either way, I'm supposed to either deliver a message for him or make some kind of potion. I've told him no poisons, and nothing that hurts you or Misty or Thorn… and nothing that gets us in trouble with the Captain. Still, I'm going to need you to keep an eye open. Will you do that for me?" Slowly the Skreek picks up a glass of water from the tray and sips at it.

Burr signs, "Eye open for what?"

"I don't scruddy know!" Willow bites her lip and sighs. "Scratch that – first, anything that seems to happen to Testy, accidents like his helmet falling down and little things that might make him look bad in front of the crew, maybe even us. You're paranoid enough… If you see something that looks bad, then tell me about it."

Burr clasps his hands together and bows his head to Willow, an effective sign for "As you wish, mistress."

The Skreek kicks her blanket off the bed. "First thing is that the helmet is in the cargo hold right now and might fall and hit Misty or Thorn. I want you to go get it, wrap it up in this blanket and bring it here. Also stop by the sick room and ask Testy to come down here."

Burr gets to his feet, takes the blanket, bows again, then opens the door. As he does so, a white rat stumbles into the room, obviously having been leaning against the door.

"Skeeee!" screeches Whitehead, and he drops a box of candies on the floor. (Some of the wrappers have already been opened, but shuffled around in a lame attempt to hide the fact.)

"Grab him, please, Burr… " Willow rolls over and starts to stand up.

Burr grabs the rat. This prompts another squeak from the pathetic creature.

"Hey! Lemme go! I was just deliverin' these candies to Miss Willow here. You just go right on outside, and we'll be just fine, ya hear?" squeaks the white rat, as his feet swing back and forth rapidly above the floor.

"How long have you been there, Whitehead?" Willow grunts out, pulling herself to her feet.

"I've been waitin' there for hours!" boasts the rat crew member, and then he looks at Willow, as if reconsidering which direction he should have lied in.

The gray rat grabs the other Skreek's nose and pulls on it roughly. "I'm going to ask you once… and you're going to be honest with me, otherwise we'll see how you manage with a patch on your schnoz as well – What all did you hear?"

"Nothing!" reflexively protests the rat … and then he gets a good look at Willow's expression, and takes a few moments for his little brain to figure out just how serious she might be with her threats. "Uh … I heard yas cussin' a few times, and telling Burr to go steal that helmet … but I won't tell nobody!"

"That's right, you won't. Because if you do, I'll be upset, and remember that I have a considerable influence with my own gender, not to mention access to herbs that can rob a man's virility for life. But if you can keep a secret then I might be able to share some feminine tips with you, and maybe help you be more successful with your… ahem… gardening." Willow doesn't smile. "Our secret… right?"

"Right," says the Skreek with a nod, then he hands over what's left of the candy. "So … what say after you eat the candy, you and I … uh… " His one good eye conveys the most curious look. It's like he has a death wish or something.

Burr signs, "Me pound?" with his free hand.

"Candy rots your teeth," the gray Skreek replies. "Whitehead… We'll discuss this more at a later time. I'm a bit busy right now. Ask me again when my arm's out of the cast, all right?"

Whitehead looks at the candy. "So, you don't want it, then?" Without waiting for an answer, he pops one of the candies into his mouth, chews around a bit, then spits out the wrapper.

"My gift to you; help yourself." Willow slowly counts backwards from ten. Right now she really can't afford him blabbing to everyone… Drat it all.

Whitehead indeed helps himself to what he can reach … though Burr is still holding him aloft, so the candies on the floor escape his reach for now. His feet struggle around a bit. "Uh … hey, big guy. Uh … you … " He points to the cheetah. "You drop." He makes pantomimes. "DROP, yes? DRAHHHHHP. Good, yes? Put DOWWWWWWWN. You. Put. Me. Down? Yes? Give you candy!"

Willow suddenly grins. "You heard the man, Burr."

Burr abruptly lets go.

The white rat falls to the floor. The rat actually manages to spit out two foul words before he lands on his hindquarters.

"Sorry about that, Whitehead… You know how literal these spotties can be." She leans against the doorway. "Just remember to keep your mouth shut; I'll be watching you."

Whitehead grunts and grumbles, scrabbling about on all fours as he greedily scoops up every dropped candy, then he gets up and scoots out the door. "Yeah, yeah … you'll come around, though! They all do!"

Burr watches Whitehead go, then signs, "I go now?" He tentatively heads part-way through the door.

"Yeah, go on. Get the helmet and Testy and get back here. Drat it all." The Skreek limps back into bed and flops down.

Burr darts out, shutting the door behind him as he goes.

Willow covers her eyes and waits for the sound of the door to reopen. "Dagh… if this is your doing, this ISN'T the way to endear yourself to me… "

Time passes. And then, there's a knock at the door. It sounds like Burr's knock, the way the door shakes.

The Skreek raises up a hand. "Come in."

The door pops open, and in comes Testament-Blaze … nearly being pushed into the room by Burr. Testament-Blaze is still wearing a towel around his head, while Burr carries a blanket-wrapped bundle, about helmet-sized.

The door pops closed again, and Testament-Blaze bows to Willow. He signs, "It is good to see you in better health. I was concerned. Please accept my apologies for any concerns I caused earlier. I was mistaken in my belief that they would wave me off as a simpleton. In fact, they had a translator."

"Stow it under my bed, Burr, and then keep watch outside." The rat frowns a little. "And be easy on the fellow! He's not done any wrong here… I won't have you taking anything out on him."

Burr looks to Testament-Blaze, back to Willow, then puts the blanket-wrapped helmet under the bed. He puts his hand to his chest in a "sorry" sign.

Testament-Blaze signs, "I'll have to wash that. Smells like perfume."

"I know you had a translator… Hmm, now what was it I saw you sign… " Willow plucks at her lip for a moment, then signs, "'… but the greatest of these is love, for without love I am a clanging cymbal, a resounding gong… '" She shakes her head, "Or something like that."

Testament-Blaze signs, "If I sign in the languages of men and of angels, but have not love, I am only a resounding gong or a clanging cymbal. If I have the gift of prophesy and can fathom all mysteries and all knowledge, and if I have a faith that can move mountains, but have not love, I am nothing."

Testament-Blaze continues, "If I give all I possess to the poor and surrender my body to the flames, but have not love, I gain nothing."

The Skreek doesn't interrupt beyond making a quick hand-wave at Burr to wait outside.

Burr bows, and heads out the door, closing it behind him.

Testament-Blaze signs, "Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It is not rude, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs."

"Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres."

"Please stop… " Willow says softly, her gaze falling.

The priest looks like he was about to continue, but instead he puts his hands together in "silence", looking at Willow with a concerned expression. (What can be made of such an expression through that ridiculous towel he has wrapped around his head, that is.)

She shakes her head and looks back up at the priest, her eyes bright with anger again. "Why were you so scruddy happy when you ended back up here? You were humiliated, had everything stripped from you, tortured… HOW?"

The priest looks back at Willow and signs, "The Star provided a translator. The Star provided a stage for me to present the Light, and an audience as well. Yes, I was ridiculed. Yes, I was treated poorly … but they did not shout down the translator, one of their own. The Light went forth … and it shall not go out in vain. They may not have understood my signs, but they heard the words of the translator. I pray that he translated my signs faithfully, but I trust that the Star will work in the hearts of those present." He smiles a bit. "I was saddened at first when learning that all my books were gone … but when books are purchased, rather than stolen, it is usually so that they might be read."

"I owe you an apology, Testament-Blaze. I'm deeply sorry… " Willow shakes her head. "I made a deal that freed you, a deal with a very powerful person that doesn't like you very much."

"You freed me? Then I am indebted to you yet again," signs Testament-Blaze.

"No… not me… not this time." The Skreek sighs. "Someone named Dagh."

"I have heard that name before. I do not think he is very popular," signs Testament-Blaze. "Is he a king that the city ruler answers to?"

"He's someone who tried to become a god… or became one, I'm not sure." Willow glances over at her uneaten dinner. "This isn't Abaddon, Priest. On Sinai, someone with enough power and luck and what-have-you can potentially become a god. Dagh is whispered in circles as a demon or a monster, but I've met him personally and I asked for him to set you free. So he arranged it so that you'd be released after being ruled an insane maniac and sent back here. You were freed because I made a deal with a demon. I'm sorry."

Testament-Blaze blinks a few time at this, definitely at a loss for signs. "I must confess, I do not fully understand. But if you feel that you have wronged me in any way, then I most readily forgive you. You know this Dagh person – ?" His signed question is cut off by a knock at the door.

Willow groans, "Come in." (What now? You never said I couldn't tell anyone, you know.)

The door opens, revealing Burr … and Copy. The mutt says (in Gallisian, of course), "Hello! Hope I'm not interrupting anything. Came to see you off … so to speak. Bon voyage! And sooner you leave the better, I'm afraid."

"Why do you say that?" the Skreek barks back, not even bothering to imitate the nasal Gallisian accent this time.

"For starters, Pierre the Poodle is dead," responds Copy. "Swelled up something nasty. Suprier le Chien claims you poisoned him, and he is using it as an excuse to rile up everyone and send out the unwelcome wagon. Don't bother haggling with Port Authority. They're on the take."

Whitehead's voice can be heard out in the hall. "Hey! Mutt! I saw that! You swiped that candy from me! Now … where'd you go?"

"WHAT?" Willow's ears flatten. "Poisoned indeed." She grinds her teeth. "Whitehead… get your face in here for a moment."

"Huh?" squeaks the white rat in protest, but his ugly face is soon visible. "Hey! You found him! That's the mutt what swiped my candy! Pound him, Burr!"

Copy sniffs at the air, then says, "Hmm. Anyway, I'd best go now. No telling how long until the gang arrives. Wouldn't do for them to find me here. They don't like snitches. But I owed you, and hopefully this makes us even."

"It does, and thanks." Willow nods to the mutt and then turns to the other Skreek. "Whitehead, go find the captain now. The town's sending a lynch mob after us, and we need to leave. If you move fast enough, I'll give you a bottle of brandy I've been hiding."

The one-eyed white Skreek says, "Captain Merryweather went off to grease some palms at the Port Authority a while ago. But, sure, I'll get him. Mmmm. Brandy… Hey … I'd be happy to share it with ya! Alone… "

Something thwacks against the wooden wall of Willow's cabin, which also forms part of the hull of the gondola. It's followed by more. Must be raining outside. Really, really hard.

However, rain doesn't usually cause people on deck to start shouting and screaming.

Copy says a single foul Gallisian word in commentary.

"Blast it! All of you hurry!" Willow pulls herself to her feet. "Copy… we'll try to sneak you off later. Right now I'm not too sure if there's a way we can get you off the ship secretly." She peers out the window. "I hope they didn't get the Cap… "

Out the window, Willow can see torch-lights bobbing around … and several moving shadows rushing toward the ship. The "rain" stops, soon followed by the sounds of combat above-decks. Willow can spy a few arrow shafts sticking out of the hull, just outside her window.

Whitehead's ears perk up. "Whazzat? Oh Dagh!" He runs over and dives under Willow's bed, his naked tail sticking out and twitching back and forth.

"I… " Willow swallows and looks sidelong at a glass bottle full of black powder. "White… get out of there! They want me dead, right? So my bed's the least safest place for you now." She grips her staff. "Burr… Misty and Thorn are out there. Let's go."

Burr signs, "Misty and Thorn in cargo hull, clean spill. Go get?"

Whitehead squeaks, "What? This is about you? Dagh take it, the … " His speech devolves into a steady stream of curses, as he tries to squirm out from underneath the bed, his considerable girth giving him some difficulty.

"Go protect them!" Willow responds to the larger Savanite before whirling around to look at the priest. "And you… pray." She swallows and rushes onto the decks to help with the fray.

The group quickly splits, Burr rushing for the cargo hold, Testament-Blaze struggling to pull Whitehead the rest of the way out from underneath the bed, and Willow making it up to the deck.

There are several crew members lying on the deck, impaled by arrows, though it's hard to tell at a glance who's dead, who's dying, and who's merely in shock. At the gangplanks, there are plenty of dead Gallahs. Hammerhead and some other Rhians – sporting a few broken arrow shafts sticking out of their hides – seem to be holding off the Gallah boarders for the most part, right now.

A dark winged shape flutters toward the deck … then crash-lands, and sprawls across the boards. The Korv, Barnacle, caws out, "Dagh blast it! Tey gots ta Captain! Dagh take 'em ALL!" He coughs violently.

Willow swallows and rushes across the deck, trying to hack the mooring ropes with one of her knives. "Get this ship in the air! It's our only chance!"

Above, there's an audible hiss, as some of the arrows must have made punctures in the envelope. There aren't any gaping gashes, so it's hopefully a slow leak, but it's bound to cause some problems. (Hopefully, however, that will be a long-term problem, while more pressing short-term concerns are being dealt with.)

The rope takes some convincing, and Willow only has one good arm to work with … but desperation can be an amazing thing. The rope is severed enough to the point where a good strong yank tears it free the rest of the way.

The ship lists to one side again, causing the Rhians to stumble … and the gangplank to break away. Several Gallahs yelp as they plummet to the dock below. (It's not that far, but enough to break some bones or bruise some tails at the least.)

"Archers!" barks a Gallah voice from far away. "Let loose! I don't care if you hit someone! That yorspice is mine!" It sounds like Suprier le Chien, though he isn't visible."Take the envelope!" he orders. Nothing happens just yet. The archers might be loading to fire.

"Tyrne… if this is your doing, then you're no god of life. I was half tempted to swallow some more of that powder and ask you for help… but I'll show you by getting out of this one on my own or dying as I try. How's that for living!" she hisses and rushes to another rope, sawing at it madly.

Now that the Rhians aren't having to deal with boarders, what with the gangplank broken off, Hammerhead stumbles over to help Willow. What with Willow's sawing, and the Rhian's tugging … the rope severs as well. Those crew still moving on the deck work on the other ropes. The deck shifts dangerously several times, as the ropes aren't released all at once … but the airship is now rising.

The whistling of arrows can be heard … but as the airship abruptly rises, while a few hit the deck and the gondola, most of them miss their mark.

Willow stumbled across the deck to the other side and looks down at the Suprier le Chien. She looks at the knife in her hands and then down at the mutt, her chest boiling with rage. "You killed my captain… " She winds back and hurls the dagger down at the Gallah.

Suprier le Chien, decked out in some cobbled-together pieces of armor that might have once adorned Cuirassiers or Chevaliers in service of the Marquis … or perhaps just ornamental suits standing in some noble's antechamber … and seated upon a palanquin borne by eight Gallah mutts serving him. He raises his hand to point and bark an order to his mutts …

The dagger spins through the air, aimed at the reasonably large target formed by the dog. It goes down. The part-bulldog mutt notices it at the last moment, and makes a vain attempt to try to roll out of the way … but it strikes its mark.

The dog's eyes go wide. He lets out a high-pitched, pathetic howl, and starts clasping at his wound. His bearers, caught in a sudden panic, fumble and drop the palanquin. It breaks under the force of falling, and Suprier le Chien is soon lost from Willow's sight in the confusion … and as the ship lists back in the other direction. There's a whistle past her ear, as an arrow zings past. It didn't exactly narrowly miss her, but it was a bit too close for comfort.

"Get this ship out of here! We can patch it up in the air!" Willow drops to the deck and crawls across it towards Barnacle. "Hold on, mate. Just hold on." She tries her best to stop the Korv's bleeding as she looks over his wounds.

It looks like Barnacle was slashed across one wing, in a failed attempt to cripple him from escaping by wing. Nothing vital hit … but flying back this far and that fast surely didn't make anything any better.

The airship continues to wobble up into the air. Barnacle weakly caws orders to nearby (surviving) crew members, as they struggle to fill roles they aren't accustomed to performing, in an attempt to stabilize the ship and get it up to an elevation with a favorable wind to take this craft far away from Fauxpas.

"Another airship is lifting off!" whinnies one of the Rhians. "Those dogs must have stolen one to give chase! Are they insane?"

The rat rips off a chunk of her trousers and binds the wound as best she can before jumping to the next closest wounded. ( I'm sorry, Captain… We argued, but I didn't hate you… and you didn't deserve this. )

Just then, the patter of raindrops – real raindrops – hits the envelope, and a light drizzling spray reaches the deck. Fortunately, the crew is managing to get the ship to stop bobbing quite so much, so as to minimize any slipping around on damp wood.

And blood.

Burr clambers up to the deck, holding a wooden table leg in one hand. It looks like it's been used. He signs, "All clear below!"

Willow shakes her head. "Deeper and deeper. Burr, help the crew with the ship! We've got experience on our hands at least. Maybe we can outrun these maniacs!" She scrabbles to a bit of rigging and fumbles with it, looking out at the other airship.

The other airship shows some signs of conflict on the deck. It seems to be of Babelite design – not an official Babelite ship, by any means, but made and crewed in that part of the world. This is further evidenced as several Eeee abandon ship by flight, leaving the Gallahs to handle the airship themselves.

And handle it badly they do. The other airship is still bobbing a bit from the hasty take-off, and it looks like they aren't doing much in the way of calming it down just yet.

The Skreek's eyes narrow. "They're bouncing… We can outrun them. Put your backs into it!" She glares at the ship. "So what now, Dagh? Anything else you can stir the pot up with?"

Thunder rolls, and lightning flashes, illuminating the cityscape for a brief moment.

"All right… so scruddy hit them! What is it you want from me?" Foxfire yanks on her gondola rope. "Setting me up to be accused of Pierre's murder… killing my captain… you want me to quit the Merryweather? Or is this what I'm getting for letting that spotty priest sign at me?"

Burr throws his back into helping with pulling on some damaged rigging, as the diminished crew works on hasty repairs. A brave Khatta works his way up the rigging – slowly – to try to inspect the damage to the envelope.

The wind buffets the ship, causing it to lurch back and forth … but it's doing the same to the Merryweather's pursuers as well.

Barnacle croaks, "South! We want to head south … not east! No setting down in Gallis again … koff … and no overshooting and running into Bosch!"

Willow shouts up to the Khatta, "Careful up there!" She secures her line and rushes to another one. "Do we have anything to repel other ships with? A crossbow or anything?"

A flaming projectile launches from the other airship … though it gutters out in mid-flight, thanks to the rain, and falls well short of its mark. No telling where in the city that bolt will land.

Barnacle caws, "Ballista … on the back … "

Lightning flashes again, uncomfortably close.

The Skreek nods and rushes to the back of the ship. She looks at her cogwheel tipped staff, the ballista, and then ponders the lightening. (As much as I hate losing my walking stick… I bet it would make a heck of a lightning rod on that other ship… ) She looks to see if she could load it into the ballista somehow.

The ballista is currently empty, and Willow will probably need some help cocking back the oversized crossbow. At least it's secured to the deck, so firing it won't be such a problem. The staff is about the same size as one of the large quarrels used for the weapon, so it should fit in the channel, as an unusual projectile.

"BURR! Get back here and cock this thing for me!" She stands behind it, using the time to try to get a good bead… to aim…

The cheetah darts over, takes a moment to puzzle over the machinery … then figures it out and cranks back the ballista bow, until it cocks into place.

Burr steps back, letting Willow have the controls.

The other airship is fairly close … and closing, at least for the moment, as the other airship rises up to a comparable elevation.

Willow loads her staff into the Ballista and peeks through the cross-hairs again, her finger rests on the trigger as she points it at the gondola of the approaching airship. "Time to see if you still have the touch, Sawtooth… " She fires her odd projectile at the airship. "Everybody BRACE!!!"

The ballista fires … and the staff pops out of the channel … flips over Willow's head … and lands on the deck behind her.

Barnacle caws, "You gotta make sure it's all the way in te channel! Or it'll pop out … like tat! Caw!"

Burr hastens to crank back the ballista again…

"BURR! Again!" Willow jumps from her seat and grabs the staff before shuffling back to the Ballista. She focuses on the other airship again, a big target getting bigger. As soon as it's cocked, she jams her staff inside of it and fires again.

Burr leaps aside as the ballista fires … and the staff shoots up and out … There's a hissing noise from above … and then the staff lands on the deck again.

Willow lets lose a stream of obscenities as she grabs the staff a third time and loads it into the ballista again. "Burr… one more go." Again she aims.

Burr's ears droop … and then he hastily cranks the ballista back. The other ship is getting steadily closer as it rises to match elevation… And another bolt shoots across from the enemy craft. The flame gutters out in mid-flight again … but the bolt crashes into the hull somewhere just below the deck.

The ballista, at least, is ready for another go.

The Skreek swallows, points her weapon at the other airship, and again fires it off.

The staff, this time (maybe it helps that this time it was stuck in the ballista, facing the opposite direction – or maybe it was all the swearing directed at it) shoots out of the ballista … and arcs through the sky. Since it isn't flaming, and since the sky is rather dark and stormy right now … it's hard to see just where it goes. But that shot looked pretty good.

Willow sinks against the ballista. "Stupid Dagh-cursed good-for-nothing… "

The opposing ship, however, doesn't conveniently go up in a ball of flame. Nor does the envelope suddenly pop a hole and start raspberrying all over the place as it exhales air. For all that can be told, nothing really happened.

*CRACKLE*

There's a flash of light that backlights Willow as she slumps against the ballista.

"EVERYBODY BRACE!" Willow suddenly screams, clinging to the crossbow. It's secured against the decks, after all.

There is a loud crash of thunder, and more flashes of light. The ship lists to one side, then bobs a bit as it steadies again.

Slowly, the Skreek creeps an eye open.

The Skreek's eye does in fact open. It doesn't appear that her ship is on fire, or anything quite as awful as that. She's currently got a pretty good view of the deck and the ballista.

Willow pulls herself up and takes a look at the other ship. "Burr, cock it again."

Burr methodically starts to cock the ballista back. Meanwhile, the other ship, its envelope aflame, is steadily descending. Unlike the Eeee, the Gallahs can't simply wing it off the deck. A few desperate fools, however, no doubt panicked by the fire, can be seen leaping overboard to their doom.

"Never mind." The Skreek sighs and looks up at the hole in the envelope overhead. "Come on! Let's get steady and start patching this thing up!"

It's much later, as the storm is left behind – and Fauxpas as well – as the airship coasts on a southeastern path, borne by winds toward the lands south of Bosch.

The crew has done its best to patch up the damage – including, thank goodness, that little rip caused by one of the ballista misfires – but there's only so much patching material to work with … and there's still a slow leak.

"We won't make it to Olympia," caws Barnacle, slumped against the side of the deck. "Not unless we dump cargo. And then nothing to sell… koff … to fix the ship… koff" He leans back and moans. "Ah, Cap'n… "

Whitehead staggers up to the deck. When he looks at Willow, he reflexively readjusts his paws, looking pained.

"Anyplace before that?" Willow squeaks. "Besides Bosch that is… "

"Kroz," croaks Barnacle. "Beh. Backwoods. Petty 'kings', monsters in the woods, dungeons, ruins … no big cities."

"Would you rather land in Olympia and have to sell the ship for kindling, or take a cut to maybe trade for repairs?" The gray rat scratches at one of her eye markings as she tightens the Korv's bandages. "It's something, and surely friendlier than Gallis."

Barnacle nods reluctantly. "Might have a chance … but it's dangerous there."

"We just left a screaming mob in Gallis! I think even Bosch might have to work up a challenge to duplicate what we just left. If we dump our cargo, we won't be able to afford repairs, and that will be the end of the Captain's legacy. We may have butted heads, but I still respect him and I don't want to see his dream go down like this." Willow puts a hand on the Korv's shoulder. "We'll do just fine there."

The Korv rolls his eyes. "You make a good point." He sighs as he lies back. "But I don't know how much more trouble I can take. I'm getting too old for this."

Testament-Blaze can be seen making his rounds across the deck … He seems to know enough to help with bandages … but he's been spending most of his time doing a bunch of signing over the bodies of the dead. (Nobody's gone and shoved them overboard, after all.)

"You get the able crew ready for landing, and I'll finish patching up who I can." She squeezes the Korv's shoulder and then limps back over to the priest. "What are you doing?"

The priest finishes up, then looks back to Willow. "Last rites," he signs. "It is an old tradition. A prayer signed over the dead."

The Skreek sighs, "What is it for? None of these people believed in the Star."

The cheetah looks back to the rat, then signs, "I know. But it is all I can do for them now."

"How do you do it? You've been tortured, laughed at, turned into a slave, made a mockery of… " Willow drops into sign, "You even had your freedom bought back by what some call a demon!" She shakes her head, "Yet you still seem to believe as strongly as before. Are you alive? Aren't you angry at all this? Don't you want to hurt someone or do something?"

"Yes," signs Testament-Blaze. "I do hurt. I do get angry. I do get frustrated. If it were not for the deliberate actions required to sign with my hands, and if I had a tongue to speak with, I would probably blurt out many hurtful things in my frustration."

The cheetah signs, "But I have hope, and a desire to do what is right. No matter who may call himself my enemy, I have the Star for a friend. That is enough for me."

"I… er… sterilized Suprier le Chien when I found out he'd killed the Captain. My knife flew low. And the other airship that was chasing us, I blew it up." Willow waves a hand over her head. "So what does that mean to you?"

"It means that there is much work to be done, now that it is apparent we will live a while longer yet," signs the priest. "I do not relish killing. I am not fully certain as to what is justifiable and when. I do not represent the whole of my people in this. The way of the Star is peace and love, but the way of most of my people is war and conflict – all justified, all rational, all with excuse."

"But I do not solve my problems by fighting, if I can help it. If I kill someone who does not know the Star … I save myself, and condemn his soul. My future beyond death is already taken care of. I have no true fear of what lies beyond death. I need not worry too much about saving my own life, at the expense of others. I trust the Star to protect me. And when it is my time to die, I shall go to my final reward. But I wish to remain here as long as possible, so that I may fulfill my duty – to let others know as well. Others such as yourself." The cheetah nods to the Skreek.

"Tell you what, I'll give your book a read. Just don't expect anything from me. So far, all I've seen from your Star is a way to live, but no proof that it's really there. But at the very least reading the thing might scruddy well help me understand how you've managed to avoid holding back the bitterness. I've lost it… Every god I ever asked for help abandoned me when I was a pup, and I finally gave up on them when I went wild on… another airship I served on long ago." Willow flicks some hair from her eyes. "I couldn't ever see myself as being like you. Even with the people I hate being dead, I still hate them."

The cheetah bows his head. "Hate held so long may take much time to be able to let go of. But it must be done. Hate will only eat away at you. The strength that hate may seem to give you is illusory. The cost is too much."

"Easy words to sign. Testament-Blaze… you should go back to Abaddon. If we get into another snarl, you probably won't survive it." Willow sniffs at the air. "I'm sure we can get you passage in Olympia if we make it."

Testament-Blaze signs, "You seem to think so highly of Abaddon compared to your own world. I wonder why that is? But regardless, I shall do what I can to help hasten our arrival at this 'Olympia'."

"Because from what I've heard there's no magic… so nobody can pretend to be a god there. There's probably no Dagh there, and no Amenlichtli." The Skreek rubs her temples. "Dagh… it's funny you know. Here I am blaming every little bump and thunderbolt on Dagh, and you attribute every lucky stroke and last minute save on the Star. I wonder which of us is more right?"

"Where you have magic, we have technology," signs the cheetah. "What functions as machinery on Abaddon, people here would attribute to magic … and some have deigned even to call themselves gods, or to create gods for themselves. And what you call 'magic' here, I can rationalize as some sort of technology behind my comprehension. Our worlds may not be as different as you suppose."

"It doesn't stop the fact that I see demons in my dreams, or whatever Dagh is. And the fact that I owe… never mind." Willow shrugs. "I'm tired, and I need to check on Thorn and Misty. After that, I'm going to go to bed… "

The cheetah priest bows his head. "At your leisure. I will not be going anywhere."

The Skreek waves absently over her shoulder as she slips below-decks. For now, all she wants to do is rest, and part of her hopes that when she wakes up, everything will be back to "normal". Conflicting emotions and thoughts tear through her head as she slips into her room and falls into her bunk.