“There's been worse,” Mella said. She had been a fisherwoman for almost eighteen years. She'd been involved in three wrecks, seen two friends drowned and one taken by sea creatures, and nothing seemed to disturb her anymore. At almost forty—just younger than Kel, and two decades older than Namior—Mella had lived enough to fill many lives. We'd have such tales to tell each other, Kel sometimes thought, but he could never speak about his past. Not if he wanted to remain in Pavmouth Breaks.

Not if he wanted to stay alive.

“And what do you say, young witch?” Trakis asked Namior.

Namior's eyes darkened for a beat, then she smiled and it lit up her face. “My mother says there's to be a waterspout just along the coast.” She glanced at Kel, the smile slipping so slightly that he thought he was the only one who noticed.

“I'll drink to that!” Trakis said. He raised his mug, and the rest of them joined him in toasting the storm.

Namior sat on a bench close to Kel, and it only took one mug of ale before she pressed herself up against him. He slung his right arm loosely around her shoulders, his hand hanging down and touching her breast, and drank with his left. She looked at him frequently, her ale-tainted laughter a welcome addition to the tavern's underlying noise. Kel drank slowly. He had never enjoyed the sensation of being drunk, and the loss of control it brought on, but he always enjoyed watching Trakis and Mella drink together, and tonight both of them were truly on form. Conversations turned to bickering, bickering to full-blown arguments, and then they would hug each other, laughing and swearing as they swore undying friendship. Kel supposed this was a tavern filled with such people, but these were special because they were his friends.

The door opened occasionally, letting a sample of the storm inside to blow out candles and spatter the timber floor with rain. Whoever stumbled in was subject to the tavern's appraisal, and more often than not they would have stories of how the storm was progressing. Waves fifteen steps high, they said, battering the mole and smashing boats against the harbor wall. Rain so heavy that some of the paths up to Drakeman's Hill had turned into impassable torrents. “Looks like I'm staying with you tonight,” Kel said at this, and Namior's hand squeezed his thigh, remaining there afterward.

The evening turned to night, though daylight had been stolen long ago by the angry clouds. Lightning flashed at the tavern's windows, followed soon after by the rumbles of thunder.

Kel knew that Namior saw this as an adventure. Whatever had troubled her earlier had been melted away by the Wanderlust ale and fine Ventgorian wine, and her smile was a constant, her laughter a welcome song.