( He nearly does not hear her — sees her mouth the words, the screams mounting, climbing, overwhelming. Some part of him, nails dug in either deck boards or the mast, feels nauseous for the noise that overwhelms like an angered storm.

It lasts forever. It must have been two heartbeats.

He struggles, crawls, but starts to move, hands and knees and no shred of shame as he clutches to every rail and chain along the way toward Red. Balance seems a fickle, ambitious prospect. No reason to attempt it.

He tries to speak at first. Blinks, first wet then excessively dry, when it strikes him that his voice is failing him, rasped and dry. He pushes his, vocal cords raw, as if he has lost the capacity to sound out his volume. It will come back, he remembers — from war, from arrows flying around him. )

Can — you. Advance? Again?

( Apologies for your ears again, Red, as he moves between whispers and shouting. )