And the noise came the faun was immediately on edge. She twisted away from the handsome Storm, though her hands remained within reaching distance of him. Her tapered ears pricked up like those of a startled deer caught in lantern light and her face swivelled towards the door. Quickly, one hand went to the hilt of her sword at her back, seizing it with such ferocity it seemed she was already prepared to run into battle. But then, was not she always?

"That does not sound pleasant," she said as she pulled away from Storm, the sound – that was a mixture between shouting, jeering and crying – became louder.

Her eyes glanced around until they latched onto the window that made up one of the sides of the Officers' Mess. Clomping over to it with her huge hooves making a din comparable to the yelling outside, Philomel leant to peer and see what she could from this. It was not the most appropriate; the butt of the ship looked out upon the sea and she had to crane around to be up to even catch the barest glimpse of the jetty. Her horn clanged lightly on the glass as she strained to see where she was sure the din was coming from. When she could no longer get any further, she backed away fast, then came across the room and grabbed her recent lover's hand.

"We will need to go up," she declared, pushing the door aside that had been slightly ajar and separated them from the small fairy boy. She saw the eyes of her beloved fox, peering as golden glow is from the darkness of the shadow, then looked back to Fenn. "Stay here," she advised the child who is not a child.

They started walking. Further along the corridor they met the mighty warrior Maverik once more who had remained further behind when it became clear what Storm's intentions were. Privacy, naturally, would always be a possibility for the Matriarch. Yet now they had a disturbance, and it needed to be sorted. Thus, the three warriors began the climb to the deck again where the chorus of chaos began to become more defined. There was the thumping feet on the ground, the roar of an angry mob. And it was headed straight towards them, towards her precious ship. As they gained into the brilliance of sunlight Philomel drew her sword, letting the ring of the metal be as loud as possible and her eyes became pits furious darkness.

Before them was a small, but malevolent crowd, almost at the ship – and at the front was the furious bartender of the tavern where they had spent the night before.