Aylwen lay miserably in the belly of the ship taking her from the Free Marches to Fereldan. Outside a storm raged, and with each wave the vessel bobbed violently—up, down, up, down. Aylwen's stomach went with it.

She'd been sick all day, from the moment they left the Kirkwall docks and entered open water. It hadn't been so bad in daylight, when the sky was clear and she could at least feel the sun on her skin when she vomited over the side. But when the clouds appeared and night began to fall, she and the rest of the passengers had to go below decks to sleep, most of them—all the elves, anyway—on the floor with nothing but thin blankets to cover them. Aylwen didn't mind this part so much. She was used to sleeping on the ground, and when she lay flat on her back she could almost anticipate the motion of the ship before it happened, which abated her nausea somewhat.

They rose once more on a great wave, only to smash back down with a jolt. She lay as still as she could and tried to focus all her energy on not being sick, on ignoring the sounds, and smells, of other passengers being sick around her. But no matter how hard she tried, her thoughts kept drifting back home.

If Keeper Deshanna were there, she would have made Aylwen special potions to ease the pain in her stomach, or held her hair back when she vomited. The hahren might drop by to distract her with a story, or perhaps one of Aylwen's friends with a new bit of gossip to share. Back with her clan, there was always someone nearby, someone to talk to. Here she was surrounded by strangers.

Her eyes stung. One tear, then another slid down her cheeks. She sniffed and wiped them away. There was no reason to cry. She wasn't sad about leaving, and she certainly wasn't homesick. This was what she wanted.

Still, the tears kept coming, and now she put her energy into stifling them. She had a feeling that if she didn't, everything was going to burst out of her in a sob the whole vessel might hear. Or perhaps no one would notice.

That thought made the tears come faster. Ignoring her fears of sickness, she curled on her side, pulled her blanket over her head, and cried hard into her sleeve.

ooo

To Aylwen's surprise, she felt better the next morning. Both her stomach and the intense rocking of the ship seemed to have settled, and when she walked above deck she was greeted by a vast blue sky and a cool breeze.

She threaded her way through passengers and crew members and leaned out over the railing to study the restless sea. In that moment she could barely remember what had made her cry so hard the night before.

As the two weeks onboard the ship passed, Aylwen's love for the sea grew. She loved the salty smell in the air, the crash and dance of the waves, and the occasional sighting of a whale or dolphin. She spent every moment she could above deck, leaning over the side as she had on that first morning, watching the horizon line and wondering about hulking rocks and distant islands.

The sea made Aylwen think about possibilities, about the home that lay behind and the uncertainty that lay ahead. The thought of home still ached in her chest, but the future was like the sea itself—every direction an unknown, but each one so tantalizing to consider that she almost didn't want to reach her destination. She wanted to stay still, poised on the edge of all possibilities. But only almost.