The storm had caught the season early, and the chief gripped the crabclaw on his amulet. They were still about a week from their new home.

They had set out from the Veteran Morekah a month previous, in search of new lands. The Morekah had grown fat and large and too populated, and the chief had decided that the Mareh there was too much of an ass. They were past where Sasnak-ra dwelled, but not farther than Sasnak had ever been, and certainly not farther than the voyages of Samahab. The Chief had chosen north, towards the Aluda. He looked at his crabclaw amulet - in the crabclaw of the bay, they had chosen to settle there, near that bump. He had marked it with a scratch on his amulet, a trick that his father had taught him. Growing trade would make the chief, soon to be Mareh, a rich man indeed - yet another reason to leave like so many had... As if they needed another. Brother clans had struck out for the fringes of Akinimod, but they would have to cross the straits to do so. It was risky doing so in the months leading to Monsoon season, but they thought they had time and could stand the "Veteran" Mareh not a second longer.

They were meant to be rich. But not if Itiah's wrath took them down first.

The storm rages on. He looked to the sea, and another ship was missing.

He swore. It had gone under.

This was the worst storm they had suffered in years - they could see no sky nor bird. They could trace no current nor wind. Their boats creaked and rocked and crashed! They had to take the sails up and drag what they could on land in a hurry, so that they would not lose everything.

No, they would only lose some, on their journey.

The chief swore again, and looked at his amulet. He wished his father was here. What would he say? Count your blessings. He could have been one of the parties crossing the Straits of Ilhika-ra, towards the Shasaka. He could have been those poor Keshurots bastards on the islands. But he was also not so fortunate as to be safe from mutiny. Itiah had voiced her anger at the exact moment he needed her favor.

Crack.

The chief looked down at a red hand. In his stress, he had squeezed the crabclaw so hard it had shattered. He swore, and turned around.

Everyone in the tent - his family and the other chiefs - was looking at him. The tent was drenched through, and rain was pouring. He had a bloodied hand. He could almost see mutiny in their eyes. They could see his dreams of being a wealthy Mareh vanish from his.

The crack of thunder hit again. Crashing waves. The gnashing fury of divine nature.

Fear. Anxiety. Anger. Suspicion. Rage. Superstition. Terror. Paranoia. Blame. Fear.

There would be no sleep had that night. For so many reasons.