Tristran Thorn

"You'll be closer to Wall," the Captain starts, puffing on his pipe. His clothes are covered in a fine layer of ash (and when he isn't smoking it, he is chewing at the stem, or excavating the bowl with a sharp metal instrument, or simply tamping in new tobacco). "Still a good ten-week journey, though. Maybe more. But Meggot's got your friend's leg up to snuff. It's already been taking her weight again quite well. Her impeccable dancing proved such."

The two of them, Tristran and the captain, sit together, side by side.

"Your hand's better?"

"A lot," Tristran says, "thank you." Even though it still looks far-from-perfect, he doesn't feel as much pain as he used to. Meggot's salve had really done wonders for it, taking the pain and speeding the healing process significantly.

"You know, it wasn't entirely fortune that we found you," the captain says, voice low. "Well, it was fortune that we found you, but it'd also be true to say that I was keeping half an eye out for you. I, and a few others about the place."

Tristran frowns. "Why? ... And how did you know about me?"

With his finger, the captain begins to sketch a shape in the condensation against the polished wood.

"It looks like a castle," the boy says.

The captain winks. "Not a word to say too loudly," he says, "even up here. Think of it as a fellowship."

Tristran stares. "...You wouldn't happen to know a little hairy man with a hat and an enormous pack of goods, would you?"

The captain taps his pipe against the side of the ship. Quickly he wipes the image from the wood. "Aye, and he's not the only member of the fellowship with an interest in your return to Wall, you know. Which reminds me, you should tell the young lady that if she fancies trying to pass for other than what she is, she ought to fake a bigger appetite from time to time. Tobias has taught her well, but she's a stubborn one."

Tristran smirks, but there's something else... "I never mentioned Wall in your presence," he says in realization. "When you asked where I came from, I said 'Behind us'."

The captain merely smiles with that knowing sort of look he's become quite accustomed to over the past two weeks. "Exactly," he says. "That's m'boy."

"Capt'n," one of the crew-mates approaches them.

Alberic looks up, pipe still in his mouth. "Hmm?"

"We're about ready to land, capt'n."

"Aye."

As the crew-mate returns to his post, Alberic stretches. "Well, this is it, lad," he says, helping Tristran up. He puts a hand on his shoulder in a way that reminds Tristran of his father. "You ought to go find that star of yours, hmm?"

"A-aye," Tristran says.

Tristran finds himself thinking of everything at the top of the spire of cloud he sits upon. There is a sense of perspective, sitting here. Everything is so simple, so...straight-forward, so...small from up here.

His stomach growls and he can't help but think that while adventures are well and good, there is certainly a lot to be said for regular meals and freedom from pain, like the pain he feels right now. He wishes he had his rucksack, or somehow they could open some mysterious door to Milliways again, if only so he could get something to eat. He doesn't need anything elaborate. He'll even take a plain loaf of bread. His hand throbs with heat and pain, and he wishes there were something he could do to stop it, but it's useless, no matter what he thinks.

Still, he is grateful to be alive with the wind in his hair and the fantastic view spread out before him, so wide he could never fully take it all in. The sky is so blue, so different from the way he might have viewed it from earth, and everything felt different to him from all the way up here. There is a sense of nowness.

Most of all, it is terribly quiet in a peaceful sort of way and it makes him want to ... disturb it. Just because. Standing upon the cloud spire, he calls out, "Halloo!" several times, belting it out as loudly as he can. It feels strangely exhilerating.

He wants to laugh. He wants to feel that pulse of adrenaline run through him and act like a fool. And when he does, he feels ... free. It's a nice sort of feeling, even if he does it by himself (not that he isn't used to doing things by himself, as that was what his childhood mostly consisted of). As he clambers down the length of the spire to return to the 'ground', his footing slips and he falls at least ten feet, landing shortly after into the misty softness of the cloud.

And then he laughs quietly to himself.