Away from the abandoned island, the weather is calm. It isn't raining, nor is lightning chasing her, leaving the sun to sparkle on the ripples of the water. The storm clouds mysteriously remain above the island's grounds, stubbornly staying in place, unmoved by the wind. It wasn't an easy feat to row through the rampant waves with oars so weathered, it's a wonder they didn't snap in two. The sea was threatening to swallow her whole as she departed from the shore but somehow, she managed to evade its promise of a cold grave. Somehow, she managed to row into open, calm waters. Her body moved on its own, putting weight where it was needed as the boat rocked.

It feels strange to know how to do something with no recollection of doing it in the past. Especially when savage fear and a sense of urgency followed her actions and made her hands tremble. The mind may not remember, and there may be a thick, brick wall shutting her out of a library of stories, but the body has no such limits. After her brief conversation with Morden, Lynda deduced that they had used the rowboats to make their escape from an unknown, dangerous place, so she supposed her feelings and muscle memory were a result of that.

In the open sea, there is nothing that registers as dangerous. It's calm, serene, almost. The sun spills happy light on her gloomy figure and her shadow disappears at an angle next to her feet. Almost noon... Lynda doubles her efforts, clenching her jaw as her arms and back strain with the circular movement. That annoying scratching in her ear is ever present when she moves but she ignores it to the best of her abilities. It isn't a serious injury –she checked for blood and found none– and it doesn't impair her hearing; it's merely irritating. How many hours have passed since she departed, Lynda doesn't know but the island has disappeared behind her. What she learnt soon after leaving was that the sun had just peeked over the horizon.

Yet, the open sea also poses threats. Sharks, whales, pirates. Despite the lack of treasures on the little rowboat, such pillaging lunatics could still be dangerous. The need to hurry doesn't let her mind wander and she's thankful for it because there are enough questions waiting to be answered that her head would split in two if she tried to make sense of them. A nice breeze whooshes past and goosebumps raise on her skin. The wet clothes don't help keep the chill off either. At least, with the exercise, she can keep going.

Half an hour later something breaks up the empty space above the surface. Giant, stone spires litter the east horizon like teeth in the jaws of a great white shark, though varying in width and height, each one of them is tall enough to touch the passing clouds. Mist spills over the water's surface like liquid smoke, circling their roots as if it were an orchard of stone trees. Sun washes over their grey, salt-eaten facades and breaks apart into beams, creating harsh shadows and little islands of sunshine. Sea birds call and fly around the tops, some nest at the protruding edges but none dive into the water to hunt for food.

The giants are intimidating, yet Lynda looks at them in awe as she rows between them, mouth agape. It's the first landmark she has come across and if Morden was right, Redwake must be past these spires. There doesn't appear to be any danger, and any boat bigger than her own would have trouble navigating their asymmetric layout or avoiding bumping into the smaller protrusions that are barely visible. It is much colder in the shadow of the monoliths but she grits her teeth and keeps going. The mist parts and dissipates as the bow pushes through and the oars splash in the water. The wind howls in an odd way and the air feels warmer than it should at sea level. It also stinks like fish and mould but that is to be expected, given how close she is to the base of the spires that are covered in barnacles and black spots that would have grown mushrooms if rock was a food source.

Redwake appears unexpectedly after going around a few more spires. A man-made structure consisting of two wooden and stone platforms connected by ramps, built upon sturdy support beams that dig deep into the sea. The first one is the docks, hovering just above sea level, it divides the harbour from the town. The second platform is taller, making it impossible for her to see what is on there but if she were to guess, it holds houses and shops. However, what draws her attention the most is the lack of people and the lack of ships. There is no one around; no fishermen nor captains shouting orders. The dock is bare of yellow fishing nets and red bobbers.

So, this is Redwake, huh? It's oddly quiet for a port.

A lone ship with black sails is moored at the dock and Lynda gets an uneasy feeling. Black means trouble. She passes by it to moor at a piling, using a length of rope that was already in her boat. The boat knocks against the wood pillars the dock is set upon once she jumps out of it, climbing onto the platform by a nailed ladder. Once she stands, she checks up and down the length of the docks, in case she's missed a person standing there. There should at least be someone to collect coins for her docking here or a guard, yet, there is no one. Not even a ghost.

This is definitely not normal. A nervous hand fiddles with the handle of the dagger secured at her hip. Did everyone leave?

Walking towards the ramp connecting to the second platform, Lynda is proven wrong. There is a woman hiding under a ramp, between crates and barrels and discarded canvas, hunched in on herself, covering her head like a kid attempting to hide in plain sight. Lynda picks a wayward strand of seaweed hair from her face, and throws it over her shoulder. That woman is certainly scared of something. Has there been an attack? Hm, it's pretty quiet. Maybe not?

No matter. She came all the way here for a reason and she isn't leaving without a single piece of food. If there is someone causing trouble, she will at least try to fight them off.

"Hello?" Lynda calls out in a whisper –just in case there is an invisible threat– and her voice alone startles the woman, who almost hits her head on the underside of the ramp.

"What are ye doin' 'ere?!" the woman's tone is frantic, her voice trembling. "Now isn't the best time to visit Redwake."

"Why are you hiding? Where is everyone?" Lynda throws a glance down the platform of the docks and the harbour to ensure there are no threats before crouching to her level.

"Pirates just landed 'ere. See that sailboat?" she points a shaking finger towards the lone boat. "Tis theirs. All o' our warriors have gone huntin', so the rest of us are defenceless and in hidin'."

"I see." Lynda's eyes narrow, anger bubbling like hot water under her skin. There are only civilians here, then; mothers, children, elderly and cripples. Defenceless, weak people with no one to protect them. Those pirates must have kept a close eye on Redwake to attack at such a convenient time. "Do you know how many there are?"

The woman shakes her head. "Too many. Why?"

"I'll scare them off." she states. She doesn't know where that confidence came from but clearly, her body remembers more than how to securely tie a boat. She'll have to trust in that hunch. Before she can leave, the woman speaks again.

"Are ye sure?", there is a hint of doubt in her voice. "I'm gonna be honest, ye don't look like a fighter to me," –she pauses, eyes trailing her appearance– "You're definitely more capable than us, though."

Lynda takes out the dagger and looks at its dull edges. The iron can't cut anymore but it's pointy enough to puncture with the right amount of force and the hilt is sturdy enough to hit someone if she needs to. Morden said she could use magic but she has yet to feel a sliver of it. Perhaps it was erased alongside her memory, so the dagger and her smarts will have to do for now.

"I can take care of myself." –she knows she doesn't look like it. She doesn't stay to hear the woman tell her the same.

The second platform is huge, expanding around the surrounding spires that house various buildings. The closest to the harbour appears to be a storage house and it's guarded by a single pirate. Piles of goods are spread across the wooden planks, providing good cover for her once she crosses the boardwalk. Another stands just in front of the pile with his arms crossed, appearing bored. Farther away, there is a central plaza in the shape of a square donut, where the rest of the pirate crew is rolling barrels and hauling sacks on their backs with the smiles of winners.

Stealing from the defenceless... Lynda doesn't like it.

She accosts the first bandit, putting a hand over his mouth and harshly pulling him behind the crate pile. It takes more effort than she thought it would but the dagger penetrates the flesh next to his spine just fine and the body falls to the ground with a thud.

The second pirate is alerted to the sound and when he notices that his buddy is nowhere to be found, he foolishly decides to investigate. A hand drags him behind the pile so fast, he doesn't draw his cutlass in time. The same cutlass is taken from his body and weighed till it fits in her grip.

That's two... out of dozens. Dozens who stick together like a pack of wolves, always protecting each other's back. Lynda steels her nerves and walks out of her hiding spot. There are no piles or structures to use as cover towards the plaza. Hopefully, there won't be any gunslingers amongst them; that would be troublesome.

"Who 's that?" a pirate rolling a barrel with another man is the first to notice her. His eyes glance at the posts where the two dead men were supposed to be. "Where are Josh 'n' Trevor?"

Lynda stops to regard them for a moment. Other pirates have noticed her presence, thanks to their mates, though they don't look worried. Redwake's warriors are gone, the only ones left behind are the townspeople. What threat could a little girl with a sword pose?

"Well," she shrugs, "They're around that crate pile." –she points towards the stack of crates with the dull dagger. The corpses' boots stick out.

The pirates immediately catch on and their faces morph from slightly annoyed to enraged. Barrels and loot forgotten, the two men in front of her unsheathe their swords.

"This Redwake wench killed two of our men!" the first one shouts to the others, his nostrils flare, his face scrunches up with countless harsh wrinkles.

A tick appears on Lynda's forehead. What did he just call me? Her lip tugs up and a growl bubbles up her throat.

"I don't like your tone, pirate!" she yells back at him. They both rush at each other. The man swung his cutlass where her head would be but she ducked underneath his arm and jumped forward with the dagger in her hand. The blade stabs into his stomach with a wet squelch. Blood sprays when she turns the blade and tugs it out harshly, splashing on her rags and mixing with the water. A disgusting warmth spreads on her side.

She braces with the cutlass when the second pirate comes forth, redirecting his slash with a bit of effort. Suddenly, there is an uproar as the crew has seen that she isn't an ordinary townsfolk but an actual threat.

"What are ya standin' 'round fo'? Put that woman down!" someone yells, perhaps the captain, and the crew is more than happy to listen to that order... and as that woman said, there are quite a few... and 'quite a few' is a bigger number than one.

Lynda cuts through the second pirate and realises that maybe, just maybe, getting overconfident was a mistake. Apparently, even her body has its limits –or a lack of skill. However, it is too late to turn tail and run now; she'll have to work with this mess. The pirates surround her easily, taking advantage of their numbers to trap her in a circle. There are no more one-on-one fights and while she gets a few hits on them, she mostly plays defence, deflecting and dodging their attempts at turning her into ribbons.

Rough hands grab her from behind unexpectedly. Lynda yelps in surprise, cutlass and dagger drop from her shaking hands to scratch at the fists dragging her by the hair. The rest of the crew laughs, lowering their weapons now that the threat is being thrashed around like a ragdoll. The pirate holding her pushes her down and her shaky knees almost buckle. Almost. Lynda knows that if she touches the ground, she is as good as dead. Her legs strain with effort but she remains upright, body angling away from the stray hands grabbing at her clothes.

"Come on, lads! Let's show this lovely, young lady what happens when ye stick yer nose where it doesn't belong!"

The pirate's laughter is cut short when nails dig into his hands deep enough to draw blood. Like claws, they tear through the flesh and he screams in pain as he lets go of her red-spotted hair. An enraged battlecry reverberates throughout the spires and it sounds more animal than human, like a beast that has been rudely awakened from its deep slumber and it roars in red veins. It's like electricity running through her blood, this intimate feeling that fills a previously insignificant void. Her skin burns hot enough that the water evaporates from her clothes in a hazy steam cloud.

A magic circle forms in the palm of her hand, drawing lines and shapes like clockwork. Blazing red and orange, the sigil of fire, is aimed at the pirates –whose lecherous grins fade when a ball of wild flames bursts in their horrified faces. If she wasn't so adamant in surviving, perhaps she would have been surprised. The fire, her fire; the way it burns and chars is so familiar that she wants to use it more. More, more and more, until it has nothing else to give but sparks. Charging her magic, summoning a circle, firing; steps to execution that her body intimately remembers draws her focus.

The pirates closer to her take the brunt of the heat and they retreat whilst holding their hands to their burnt faces screaming or frantically trying to put out their clothes that have caught aflame. Some fall to the ground and roll like pigs in the mud, trying to use the humidity of the creaking planks to asphyxiate the fire. It is enough of a distraction to retrieve her weapons from the floor.

The exploding thuds of doors makes her look away from her sword fight against a rat of a pirate long enough to see people emerge from their houses. They shout and yell, holding makeshift weapons and wielding their own magics. Women and men, old and young, shout out.

"Get 'em!"

"Get outta 'ere, ya filthy scallywags!"

Lynda resorts to punching her opponent, who was equally distracted, so hard that he spits out a tooth.

"That's for insulting me!"

The pirate looks at her, bewildered, blood running down his lip.

"But I didn't–" , another tooth flies out of his mouth and he sprawls on the floor unconscious.

The harbour bursts into noise. The citizens of Redwake engage the pirates in battle, hitting them with rolling pins, heirlooms, skillets and ladles. There are more of them than there are able-bodied pirates, thanks to Lynda's fiery efforts, and they quickly overwhelm their scampering foe –and they don't stop until they've chased them back to the docks, back to their sailboat and most of them are lucky to see another day. Some others, like the charred corpses at her feet or the injured that were left behind, weren't so lucky.

Lynda stands alone on the second platform, wheezing and shaking, panting for air as her lungs expand so much that breathing hurts. Her hands tremble when she raises them to her face, and sees that there are surprisingly no burns despite the intense heat that came from them. The chilly breeze of early afternoon blows through the spires but her body is as warm as a furnace and the water has evaporated, leaving her rags dry enough to hang off her lithe, starving body.

The citizens return with smiles and yells of a battle won, and they thank her for standing up for them, surrounding her with gratitude. Young and old shake her bloody hand at least once like a ritual and she stands stock-still, unsure of how to respond as they pass one by one. Through the pool of people, there is one person she doesn't see: the woman hiding at the docks under the ramp. Surely she has returned with the rest of them; the pirates must have been too busy readying the boat to sail away to kill an innocent woman.

"Thank ya so much for scarin' off those pirates, lass." the next person in line breaks her out of her thoughts. It's a grizzly old man with a wooden walking cane. Despite his age, his grip is strong enough to make her bones creak –she twitches reflexively but everyone is so happy with relief that it goes by unnoticed. "Didn't think someone as scrawny as ye would give 'em pirates so much trouble," a good-natured slap on the back makes her stumble forth –as if her body is proving the man's observations. "You've got the guts to make up for it though."

"Ah, you're welcome, I suppose," she says awkwardly and takes a few steps away from him. "There was a woman hiding at the docks. Brown hair, wearing a black headband; did she come back with all of you?"

The man hums in thought. The women and children waiting for their turn ask each other the same thing.

"Hm, that could be anyone." he tells her. And then, a little boy bursts out of the crowd, flailing an arm giddily.

"I saw someone run towards the plaza from me window, miss!" he says with a smile that is missing a few baby teeth. Lynda nods appreciatively, already trying to look where the boy pointed.

"Are ye sure it wasn't a pirate, boy?" the old man asks.

Lynda leaves the crowd to investigate without another word. If one of those pirates escaped, Redwake might still be in danger and all that fighting was for naught. With the few prisoners the townsfolk have taken into custody, the possibility that one of them is still roaming freely could cause trouble.

The few women that had greeted her are already hard at work rifling through the bags of loot the pirates had left forgotten at the plaza. Little girls and boys help their endeavour to the best of their abilities by carrying light loads of fabrics and jars. The elderly stand by, thanking and encouraging their grandchildren, whilst they also partake in redistributing the stolen wealth. Lynda limps across the plaza, weaving through pairs of girls and boys, women and old men. Her focus is set on finding an unpleasant face in the crowd despite the splinters that have made themselves painfully apparent in the soles of her feet and the scratching in her ear that has returned tenfold.

By all means, she shouldn't be standing right now. Exhaustion nips at her heels, her eyes unfocus and blur till she blinks and the world comes back to order for two more seconds, her stomach aches and growls complaints. However, it isn't safe. It isn't safe to sleep; not safe to eat and drink; it isn't safe.

The light spilling through the double swinging doors of a particular building catches her attention, its walls are made of wood where dark mould has eaten away at the white paint and the roof is dark tiles, which are easy to clean when seabirds inevitably dirty it. She is certain there was no light coming from it during the fight. The big sign over the entrance is bold and hard to miss. 'The Red Fin', it reads in red letters.

Lynda pushes one of the swinging doors and enters the establishment, not expecting to find a tavern inside. A few tables litter the place, though thanks to the recent raid, each of them has been tilted to the side and the matching chairs have broken legs. The stools at the bar are the only pieces of furniture that have been left untouched but the same can not be said for the bottle holder behind it, where the woman she's been looking for is standing to take stock. Brown, curly hair, black headband and now that she sees her in full, she recognises the ribbons of an apron.

"Hello." Lynda greets with surprise tugging at her features. The woman startles and quickly turns around but calms when she doesn't see a threat at the doorway.

"Oh, hey! Ye found me!" the woman pleasantly smiles. Lynda walks inside, stepping over fallen tables and broken chair legs. "Sorry for not tellin' ye before I left but I snuck back 'ere while ye were beatin' up 'ose pirates! Sounds like the rest o' the town 'as come out o' hidin' too."

Taking a seat at the bar, Lynda's shoulders sag with relief. It seems the boy had seen the woman from his window and not a fleeing pirate. The exhaustion she felt returns doubled now that there is no more reason to be alert. Still she makes an effort to stay awake.

"Name 's Estrid." the woman stretches her hand over the bar. Lynda grasps it in hers and grunts when she finds the woman's handshake to be as strong as that old man's.

"Lynda." she says, rubbing her hand to soothe her aching bones. "The townsfolk helped me scare them away. What is this place? It looks very nice." –she sniffs the air, and the mere scent that wafts from a door next to the bottle holder makes her salivate– "And it smells good as well."

"Why thank you!" Estrid flashes her a grin. "This is Redwake's tavern, 'The Red Fin'. I'm 'ere all the time if ye need anythin', I just got the kitchen in order..."

Right on cue, Lynda's stomach growls. She places a hand over her empty tummy, biting the inside of her lip. Even through the exhaustion, dread is ever apparent as her eyes almost bulge out of their sockets. Estrid, thinking her reaction is out of embarrassment, chuckles and opens a cabinet below the bar.

"How does a meal sound for a start?"

Is that a taunt?

Lynda shakes her head, surprised at her own thoughts and emotions. She can't make up her mind on an answer, to accept or decline, fearing something that not even she knows, so she wordlessly sits at the bar and watches the woman rise and turn away from her. Estrid appears to be putting something on a ceramic dish that is decorated with red waves.

"Where are ye from?"

Lynda shrugs her shoulders. "I don't know."

"Ye don't know?" Estrid throws a puzzled glance over her shoulder.

"I don't remember where I'm from."

That appears to draw the tavern keeper's attention, as she turns to the side in order to speak to Lynda directly.

"Oh, ye 'ave memory loss?" Lynda nods. Estrid's brows furrow, her eyes look sad. "That sounds awful... Me sister, Geirlaug, hit 'er head when she was younger and had it too. She forgot who I was for a lil' while.", she pauses and then a smile overtakes her frown so fast that Lynda is physically taken aback by it. "Luckily, 'er memory returned after a few months, so there's some hope for ya!"

So much blatant optimism makes Lynda blink in shock. Estrid's words settle with something promising over her shoulders that fall once more.

"I hope so too...", she mumbles, "I don't know what to do now. Where do I even go from here?"

"Well, thinkin' shouldn't be done on an empty stomach." Estrid cuts her off when she places a dish of plain pie in front of her. "The pirates stole the food from the pantry, so this leftover pie should be enough till mornin'. I haven't thanked ye properly for savin' us, so this is on the house..." –she gives Lynda an once-over– "Though I doubt ye have any coin anyway."

Her words fall on deaf ears. The two pieces of pie, even though plain and most likely stale, make Lynda drool. She swallows a lump in her throat, licking her dry lips but keeping her hands to herself, her fingers crooking like a crab's legs.

"Can I...", she swallows and her throat feels dry. "Can I really have this?"

Estrid, confused about why a starving person would question free food, raises her eyebrows. "Yeah, as I said, this one 's free–"

Before she can finish her sentence, Lynda has snatched the pieces off of the plate and turned away from her. The pie is tasteless and dry when she takes a big bite out of it but to her empty stomach, it's pure crumbs of ambrosia. She moved so fast, Estrid took a step back out of surprise to watch her scarf down the food and almost choke on it. Seeing that, the woman reaches a hand over the counter to pat her back.

"Woah! Slow down there!"

Like a wild dog, Lynda's head spins around, eyes frantic, and a wet growl emits from her throat. Estrid pulls her hand back immediately, fearing that her fingers would be bitten off.

"...You really were hungry, huh?" , she comments quietly, not knowing whether to be concerned or impressed at how fast the pie has been reduced to crumbs that stick to the young girl's hands. And then, with her hunger satiated, it's like Lynda has turned into a different person; like she didn't snap at Estrid for merely trying to help her get that pie out of her throat.

"Thank you for the pie." her words are almost emotionless, her eyes slightly wet.

Estrid laughs out in surprise. "You're really somethin', y'know? You're welcome, Lynda. Tell ye what, since our chief isn't back yet, I'll reward ye with a free room upstairs for now. Ye can live up there as long as ye plan to stay in Redwake."

Lynda shakes her head. "You've already fed me, I couldn't possibly–"

"Yes, ye could! Ye must be exhausted after the fight and this is a reward on our chief's behalf, alright?"

"I– Hm... Alright." Lynda relents with a tired sigh. What is she doing? Refusing shelter like that, how stupid. She doesn't know why she refused a reward of a bed to sleep in, especially since she has undoubtedly earned it.

"Wipe yer face, too." Estrid tells her, handing her a wet towel. "Ye have blood on yer face."

Not long after that, Lynda excuses herself and heads upstairs. Estrid permitted her to use her room and insisted on picking some new clothes to wear from the closet. In her words, what she's wearing isn't only unsightly but also impractical. Lynda has to admit that she's right. When her magic wasn't present, the cold was unbearable and now, the chill still bites at her skin. Plus, these rags, tattered, ripped and covered in blood, are quite uncomfortable. Even though she doesn't like the idea of indebting herself to a stranger, a change sounds nice. Then again, she isn't really indebting herself, is she? Estrid was adamant that this was part of her reward... or maybe she felt sorry for her. Regardless, she's thankful for it.

Closing the heavy, wooden door behind her, Lynda is faced with a plain room. A single bed with white sheets, a dresser, a wardrobe and a thick, lit candle on a nightstand. She leans against the closed door, massaging her temples with her fingers.

"What is wrong with me?" she huffs and bangs her fist against the wall.

To get so defensive over a piece of pie... That definitely isn't normal and truly, the thought of biting the hand on her back did pass through her mind, and if Estrid hadn't pulled away in time, she would have lost a couple of fingers. She shakes her head and wipes at her face with the back of her hand. Hair falls and blocks her vision, tangled and split, unbefitting of a young lady.

No matter. She'll tend to her appearance tomorrow, maybe. Estrid was right: she is exhausted and her feet ache. Pushing her body off the door, she takes a step forward and falls on the mattress with a dull thud, sinking into the softness and fresh feel of clean bed covers.

Sleep comes the moment her head hits the pillow.