Orange flame from the setting sun kissed the still water that lapped upon the shore of the Merchant Coast. Pebble gazed at the rolling hills in the distance, one hand on the Seawolf's steering wheel. Orsha steadied a sextant between her hands, guiding the wooden triangle into place with slim fingers. “I make it six o'clock, captain. We'll be at Ratchet just after dark.” Pebble could taste the tangy sand of the Barrens on the wind. The land breeze was strong, as if it dreaded their return, but with the right sail, it would push them even faster towards their goal. A chorus of laughter broke out.