“The foremost cabin,” Varg said.

Nasaug’s tail lashed in a gesture that Marcus had come to recognize as one of surprise. The younger Cane quickly controlled himself and rose. “Centurion,” he rumbled, “if you would come with me. It would be best to have you out of the way so that the sailors may do their work. We will do our best to keep you comfortable.”

Marcus thought, with a dry amusement, that in this case comfortable was synonymous with breathing. But one learned rather quickly that the Canim had a viewpoint distinct from that of Alerans.

He followed Nasaug onto the Trueblood’s deck. Its timbers had all been painted black—something that would never have happened to an Aleran vessel. Quite the opposite, in fact. Ships were generally whitewashed. That made it easier for the crew to see what they were doing at night, particularly during bad weather, when few reliable light sources were to be had. All the black wood around them gave the ship a grim, funereal appearance, which was certainly imposing, particularly when combined with the black sails. A Cane’s night vision, though, was far superior to an Aleran’s. They likely had no trouble operating at night, whatever color the ship was tinted.

Nasaug led him to the foremost cabin on the ship—the one generally considered to be the least desirable, Marcus knew. On a sailing vessel, the wind generally blew in from the stern, and whoever was farthest downwind received the benefit of every unpleasant odor on board—and there were generally plenty to be had. The door to the cabin was low, barely Marcus’s own height, but rather than simply entering, Nasaug paused and knocked first—then waited for the door to be opened.

When it did, the cabin beyond was completely unlit, windowless and dark. A quiet voice asked, “May we serve, son of Varg?”

“This Aleran huntmaster is under Varg’s protection,” Nasaug said. “My sire bids you to safeguard him until he can be returned to his people after the storm.”

“It will be done,” the voice said. “He may enter, son of Varg.”

Marcus arched an eyebrow at that and glanced at Nasaug.

The Cane gestured toward the doorway with his snout. “Your quarters, centurion.”

Marcus glanced at the dark doorway, then at Nasaug. “I’ll be comfortable here, will I?”

Nasaug’s ears flicked in amusement. “More so than anywhere else on the ship.”

One of the critical things the Alerans had learned about dealing with the Canim, largely thanks to the Princeps himself, was that they placed a far higher priority on body language than humanity did. Words could be empty, and statements of motion and posture were considered to be a great deal more reliable and genuine indicators of intention. As a result, one did not display physical signs of fear before the predatory wolf-warriors, if one wanted to avoid being, for example, eaten.