“You’re a long way from home,” the woman continued. Her head was shaved, not bald, Iskra noted, a fine stubble making itself seen as the day’s last light passed over her scalp. “I’m from Sota myself, just southeast of here. But I’ve… spent time in Rethow, in the mountains. You have a little of that look to you.”
Iskra had been born in the mountains. Perhaps it had been Rethow. Perhaps not. No one had ever cared enough to claim the place. Her father had plucked a name from one of the old languages, he said. One from Rethow, for all she knew.
“Well, no matter. Just thought maybe I’d found a compatriot, or something like. These Ethrins, with their salt and sea. Nice people, but… how much kelp can you eat, after all?”
“I farm kelp. My ship is a kelp ship.” An obscure resentment tinted her v
