Her lip tugged into a smile, since she owed one for the banter and a surly captain was liable to raise resentment if it was the only mien she could offer.

The sea she missed. Saltspray and dolphins cresting the waves. Climbing ratlines. Traveling by stars.

The crew? Had been a means to an end. She'd never let herself feel close to them, not truly. Any one could have been a knife in her back as easily as she could be one in theirs.

She'd spent most of her life like that, until Mal put the little maggots in her belly, and she'd ended up with four screaming brats at her teats. They'd become her world, somewhere along the way. Everything else, even the Howff, was meant to secure them safe passage through the horrors of living.

Now two were gone. And Toad had been sick, again, and Lyra felt the scarcity of medicine keenly. What did being captain matter, if she couldn't protect them?

Jaskier didn't know the storm of her mind. But she couldn't truly share his nostalgia, and irritation prickled secretly under the practiced smile.

She had to keep smiling. Maybe she couldn't keep the ones she loved safe as a captain. But if she gave the others reason to displace her, she'd be putting them at risk, and that was still worse.

Heard tell o' a ship beached past the marshes. What do ye reckon' odds o' it bein' salvaged are? Lyra bantered, moving to descend the stairs. Keen eyes looked Jaskier over for signs of wear. The road had weathered him, to be sure. Given him a rugged charm she imagined would bring up his stage appeal.

But had he been successful? 'ow was yer journey? Did ye meet any of our own along the way?