She slumped to her captain's cabin and fell into her bed. It was a simple, wooden thing build into the structure of the ship itself. Facedown and still fully armoured she huffed angrily into the rough covers.

“Arrrghhhhh!” she yelled at herself. “Argh!”

You like him, Veridian's voice came.

Tilting her head she saw him, sitting in the slit of the ajar doorway, back in normal sized form. His golden eyes blazed at her, full of merriment and amusement. Her jaw tightened.

“Veridian-”

You're going to end up letting him go. Unharmed and well.

Huffing she grabbed a pillow and threw it at him. Nickering with laughter the fox leapt up and teased her as the thing thumped against the door, nowhere near enough for the gap.

You're a complicated person, Philomel van der Aart, but not to me! he grinned and then suddenly fled as she leaned halfway off the bed, her face a twist of anger. All she could here were scrabbling paws and the sound of foxy chuckling.

For a moment she glared at the door, before rolling her eyes. Then - ugh - she fell back on the bed. Because Veridian was right, she did actually like this Huntsman. The way he was, his honour and his graciousness, the way he had described his hunt, that was what made her conflicted. He had spoken like a true fighter, one who understood the ways of combat well and, in another life, one whom she could be strong allies with and forge bonds. They seemed to share the same morals for what should be allowed to stay alive, and the same attitude of protecting the weak. Her heart hammered in her chest as she bored hell into the wooden ceiling with her glare.

But he was what she had come here to destroy. To war against, to send a message to Alerar declaring ‘this is not right’! Yes, they had less magic than the general country, but so far Philomel's attitude to that had been that it was wrong to challenge the right of nature. It was cruel to use her resources with no regard for her future. It was truly an abomination to alter one's being …

But … was it?

Uneasily she dragged a hand through her hair and swung off her bed. She set about the process of taking off her armour, leaving just her belt with her mighty sword and dagger in it. Instead of her dragonscale armour she pulled on a loose shirt and slipped over it a corset, pinning it in place and feeling the familiar comfort.

She stared at herself in the mirror for some time, before grabbing and shoving her now old and battered tricorn hat on her head. Turning around she marched to the kitchens. There, she ordered some food, and watched as the hands gasped and set to work to make her a fine plate. Heavily she leant on the counter, chewing the inside of her mouth as Veridian sent her an image of him still watching her, now from a crack in the floor above.

She sighed. Is his weapon safe?

A blink. I hid it in my space. Philomel, you know I do not mind whatever decision you make with this person. I agree with all your thoughts.

Her hands grew white as she gripped the counter before she threw the contact of the fox-form earth-spirit from her mind. At least he was trying to be nice and 'his space’ … well even she did not know where it was on the ship. The food came a few more minutes into her fuming. Bread, fine salted, warmed meat, what fresh fruit had been battered that day from the harbour, along with figs, and a wineskin of rich red wine. She also requested a skin for water and these items she grabbed before she thanked them and twisted around.

And slipped as unseen and quietly as she could down to the cells. Where she was determined to keep the man alive who had this day become her prisoner.