[Firefoot]

Menelcar was still thinking about the left-tenate as the captain led him and the king off to their quarters. His lackadaisical attitude had put him off for several reasons: the sailor had been blatantly disrespectful not only towards him, but also to his ship and his country. They were going to war; the left tenate ought to be proud of his duty, proud and ready. His actions would never have been accepted back when Menelcar was serving in the army. It also reflected poorly on the ship’s captain; Menelcar was not impressed.

His attention was brought back to the present as they approached the cabin. Hereric held open the door, and he followed Telumehtar inside. The room was not tiny, but the cramped cabin was certainly far from spacious, containing only the sparsest of furnishings. Menelcar figured irritably that the captain’s own quarters were probably twice this size.

“Due to the circumstances, sir, we couldn’t quite settle you with as much room as on a normal voyage,” explained Hereric. “I have taken the liberty of assuming that you would like your counselor here to be nearby. It will do, I hope.” Clearly, the statement was not a question, and Menelcar did not intend to sink so low as to argue it as such - certainly not to a man who seemed determined to ignore his presence except as an appendage of the king. Instead, he made a slight noise in the back of his throat that left in no uncertain terms his opinion of the lodgings.

“Certainly, this will be fine,” answered Telumehtar smoothly. Menelcar glanced at him critically, recalling suddenly the king’s claustrophobia and wondering if the cabin really would be “fine.” He could see no indicative signs one way or the other, however; perhaps he would ask later.

Menelcar looked around the cabin once more before his gaze returned to Hereric. He sighed inwardly; this was going to be a long journey. Why the king enjoyed sea travel so much, he would never understand.