Moyra attempted to rest in her hammock to little avail. The stinging of her back had only subsided somewhat after Sandra did her bit of healing. She grit her teeth just remembering being sent into unconsciousness at Master Scourge’s enthusiastic punishment. It had, decidedly, been a poor turn of events for the most part. Her attempt to secure Grok’s favor and push her towards Jag had nicely blown up in her face. It was enough to send feelings of panic welling up inside. Things weren’t totally lost, but this whole ordeal no longer held the gleam of adventure. What would her Gran say, to see her now? Probably a smattering of curses before yanking her by the ear and explaining, for the thousandth time, “Moyra, for someone so smart, you sure are stupid sometimes. You can know all the things in the world, but all those little facts mean nothing if you can’t put em to use. You have to seize on what people expect. Never show your hand and live for misdirection. You’re a half-orc, fool girl, so no one will expect you to do what you can do. So don’t let them know that you can do it!” Followed by a whap across the back of the head and some ungodly chore like scooping the newts’ eyes out. It was oddly comforting to think back on such moments. And there was truth in the memory. Moyra recalled the strange little goblin’s tale of the Despair and the pirates hushed whispers and enraptured faces. The promises of treasure at the expense of curses and dread spirits. Well, well, pirates, be careful what you wish for. With thoughts of lights dancing across the prow in the middle of the night and food spoiling strangely; Moyra fell asleep with a smile.