Cécile gripped the railing of the ship until his hands went numb. With his head hanging over the middle bar, he kept his eyes closed and his mouth tightly shut. His stomach was a whirl of chaos and his head a storm of turmoil, despite the gentle rocking of the calm sea. The dry, bitter herbs he'd been chewing on had kept the contents of his stomach where they belonged, but still he felt sick.

Home sick mostly.

If his grandmother had been there, she would be rubbing his back and humming a sweet old song to calm him. His grandfather would have cooked him up a gentle soup to seep the warmth back into his bones. But they were not there. They were far, far away in their little old house in the little old town where he had been living for the past seven years. And he was here, on a rinky-dink boat in the middle of nothing with no one he knew, no one who cared.

Maybe he'd made a mistake. Maybe, when he finally came to shore he'd find another ship to take him home. He couldn't take this one, oh the disappointment if he--

A hard thump on his shoulder smacked him out of the murky mood that reflected his stomach, resulting in a yelp of surprise and a smart whack on the back of his head from the bar above. Pulling his head back, tenderly rubbing the spot on the back of his head, he looked behind him at the laughing man who stood behind his chair.

As he moved to his side, Cécile could see him much better. He was tall and burly, like all the sailors on board. His face was familiar though, on this sea of strangers for he had a wicked scar down the left side of his jawline. The man's name, however, escaped Cécile entirely.

"Sorry, kid, didn't mean to scare ya! Thought you'd gone and falled asleep. Yer pasty a** would get a wicked sun burn under that sun, that's fer sure." The man laughed again.

"I wasn't sleeping. But thank you, I think." Cécile mumbled glumly.

"Missin' home aren't ya?"

"What? No, of co--"

"I know the feelin', kid. Notin' to be ashamed of, e'ery one gets that on their first trip out."

Cécile waved a hand in front of his face, brushing away the embarrassing thought. He was in his twenties, not some kid leaving home for the first time, "I've traveled often enough, I am not home sick. The sea just doesn't agree with my stomach, that's all. Really"

The sailor looked at Cécile long and hard. He was a terrible liar, but the man did not press the issue, "If ya' say so kid," he clapped a large hand on the brunette's small shoulder once more and offered a wide grin and motioned out to the sea, "Ya better gather yer things, I reckon we'll be ashore in less than a hour."

When Cécile looked back out to sea, he saw that the glassy vastness that had been there before was now broken by the approaching land mass. Suddenly, his nausea was back in full force.

He was here.