The Wandering Isle

[Luned]

Meanwhile, Muir had let himself into Luned's room, where he found the girl nearly drowning herself in her wash basin as she sprawled with her head hanging over the edge of her bed. "Go away," she groaned, more out of mortification than anything.

"You need fresh air," he declared, hands buried in the pockets of his long coat as he stared down at her. "Come on."

She might have shaken her head in defiance, but it was hard to tell in her hunched position. Her hair, tied in a loose braid over her shoulder, obscured her face.

"Fine." Without ceremony, Muir bent over and grabbed around her middle. He hoisted her up under his arm and carried her, with no small amount of kicking and thrashing from the victim, toward the door.

"Stop! Muir, please!" Luned shouted, fighting tooth and nail until he dropped her without fuss at the threshold. She caught herself and stood, frazzled and angry.

Insistent, he reiterated. "Fresh air. Or else." Threats seemed to be the extent of his brotherliness as she fell for his age-old torture-until-she-gives-in scheme.

She glared but cooperated, halfheartedly fixing the lay of her knee-length skirt as he pushed her up the stairs.



Flint soon found them standing together at the bow, pirate and scholar conversing as the wind tossed their hair and clothing with the waves. When he approached, Luned noticed him over her shoulder and stopped speaking.

"Don't be an idiot," Muir warned her, then stepped away.

The scribe smiled sheepishly. "Sorry if I was rude," she said, searching Flint's face for forgiveness. Luned leaned heavily against the polished railing with crossed arms and was a bit disheveled, blouse half untucked from horseplay, but otherwise seemed fine. The wind put some color back in her cheeks and it was safe to assume that brief contact with her brother was all she needed.

"It's fine," Flint said, facing the water as he stood next to her. The endless blue was nearly enough to turn him agoraphobic. After a moment of consideration, he finally broached the subject he'd put off for days. "How does he do that?"

"Muir, you mean?" Luned thought for a moment, watching the water as well. The sun was still warm and the wind still pleasant, though it would only be a couple hours before the evening chill set in. "He studied Varmakkalai in Fallien –– it combines martial arts with healing –– and I guess he was a natural. It sort of became a part of him, now he does it without even meaning to."

It was difficult to picture that strange young man as a natural healer, so all Flint offered was a soft "Hmm."