[Feanor of the Peredhil]

Her eyes grew wide as Malris called for her help. All teasing aside, Tasa knew that Malris was the leader between them... she would guide at need, but was more than willing to follow orders from one better suited to the command. In this case, the command belonged to her friend, and so with no hesitation, she grasped the oar as though her life hung in the balance, which, she thought, it very well might.

Leaving the bailing to those better suited for the work than her, Tasa rowed with all her strength, cascades of water streaming down her cheeks, the brine stinging her bright eyes. The wind tugged at her hair, pulling the wet locks before her eyes. As the storm broke, the ship tossed roughly through the waters. At many points, her oar missed the water entirely as she was jostled away from the edge.

A sign, she thought passively as she fought with all of her against a foe that could consume her quickly with one wrong move on the part of anyone. The Valar are testing us... if we can brave this storm... if we can make our way home... through whatever trials we encounter... they may just allow us back... but first... we must prove... ourselves. Her thoughts were fragmented, broken up much as speech by the motion of rowing. Tasa prayed as she rowed, for forgiveness, for strength, and for the will to carry on.