[Firefoot]

Lómwë doubted that he had had as much experience with ships as Malris was ascribing to him, and, at any rate, those ships he had used were more suited for rivers not oceans. Nevertheless, he supposed he could figure it out. The ship was small and the riggings not overly complex.

He studied the mechanism briefly before setting to work. He was fortunate in that the system was basic and should be easily manipulated. On the other hand, the bucking waves made footing on the boat treacherous and gusting wind seemed determined to keep the sail open. This also did not help, as the wind was not really blowing in any one direction, so neither did the ship sail in a given direction for very long.

When the first fat drops began to fall, the deck became slippery. Catching sight of some of the others securing a rope about their waists, he did the same. One could never be too sure, and in this weather, going overboard was all too likely.

As he struggled with the ropes, he couldn’t help but feel that the star on the sail was beaming down on him. What an awful sign to set sail under, a sign more of woe now than valour. He knew from his brief conversation with Orëmir while stowing the gear that he was not alone in these misgivings, and Lómwë was becoming increasingly convinced of them as the storm raged on, figuring it had probably been sent as a warning.

He strained against the riggings of the ship, fighting to get the sail shortened. He suddenly realized it was done when he noticed that the ship’s path, while still jostled from the waves, was smoothened as the wind lost its grip on the ship.

And for the time being, anyway, the star is no longer gazing down upon our voyage…