Later that afternoon, Lyn joined Melite at the quarterdeck, where they talked in the sun about what supplies they'd need, and what seals would be required to keep the next set of trading routes stable once Halftide expanded. Fedlimid leaned nearby, eyes closed, listening but not speaking. He looked steadier now. Lighter.
Arthur spent the evening adjusting the air dome, folding layers tighter to preserve warmth for the incoming night, testing how it responded to vertical lift and lateral shift. He carved new runes along the steering mounts with quiet precision, his hands steady even as the sky dimmed to rose and then to black.
The muscles of his wyrmfolk form allowed him to use the carving knife to its best, though it was a little more difficult to handle with larger, clawed hands.
At dusk, Lyn brought a pair of mugs, one filled with tea, one simply hot water and a sliver of seasalt rind. She didn't ask which Arthur preferred, she offered both.
