It was... a good time wasted, he'd managed to write a lot and burned through several drinks, swapping from tea and water to the heavier fluids and alcohols once the sun began to set. He'd taken notice that she went off along to meditate, seemingly rather out of character for such an eccentric one but he didn't think much beyond that, even he liked to relax as often as he could. Then, bells began to rang, two ships preparing to leave from the same platform, he stood up and tucked his notebook and pen away and left ryo on the table for his drinks and more. Then, it was off to the pier, wet wood, and all else with boxes and freight piled high, there were no signs or indication, so... Maigo had to figure this out.

The boat on the left, though smaller, was pointed to the north, and a much larger ship, seemingly two decks and more crew was pointed south. Their destination was south so the continuity existed that it was indeed the boat he needed to be on! So.. he walked up, a skipper took his ticket and tore it in half before handing it back to him and spoke up a single word, 12. Maigo tilted his head, Alwen would receive the number 13 afterwards if she followed him on immediately. Turning out to be their room number, out of the 20 or so closet sized rooms under the deck, Maigo headed straight for it and found... a room little larger than a twin bed but shrugged his shoulder and set his bag down in the corner. The 'bed' as it could be called was little more than a mattress but that was fine, it all beat rowing his way there.

Maigo lingered around there, wondering if he should go interact more with Alwen but didn't mind it, she was plenty capable on her own and moments later, he received the captain's words, vague and uninspiring to say the least, "Well, we set off in the next few minutes, if you get sick then heave off the boat or out the window, not inside. It should take us through the night and tomorrow night to arrive but this ship moves quick and the sea has some high winds once we move away from Mizu no Kuni..." he continued on with a craggly old voice and laugh, then walked down to the next room or person to alert them as well. It was a courteous gesture he supposed. Maigo found his bravado about the ships speed to be a bit... misguided, given how it was going to take nearly as long as rowing by hand to get there, but that didn't matter as he would save his own strength.

To kill time, he would relax on the deck of the ship, watch the crew go about and enjoy the view of the sun. If the sun got too bright, or when night hits he would be found in that humid old room number 12. Time cycled and the boat rocked around, Maigo kept mostly to himself aside from the odd conversation here and there to pass time.

---

Upon arrival at the dock, after sleeping a lot and locking himself away in that room, Maigo exited to a starry night and... the lack of his companion? He searched through each room, calmly at first then with panic, hurriedly moving around the area and even using his sharingan to scan for chakra signatures and other such things off in the distance, but nothing. It wasn't until he grabbed hold of one of the crewmen and asked if he'd seen an odd looking girl with horns that he found out... she fell off? He sighed and rubbed his forehead a bit, a perfect way to begin things, not only that but to find out he was in the Land of Lightning?! What was nervous anxiety fell into a pit in his stomach, he knew two things immediately, he needed to stay as far away from Kumogakure no Sato as he could, and that he needed to find Alwen. And probably, send word to the village...

Well, one thing at a time though, for now, he exited the ship, a small promise that the small life boat and two men they dropped to go find Alwen would work out and bring her here. He now had to work on sending word to the village that he was there in the Land of Lightning, and ask for their... guidance? Or rather, prepare to be chewed out when/if he ever got to return.


[780 words]
[Travel Complete]
[Exit Thread]

The waters were rough, wind howling violently as it threatened the safety of those on the large boat. Yet still, Alwen was on the top of the deck, enjoying the sea, being so free, so open in the air. Not exactly being as insane as her, the rest of those on the ship stayed within shelter as much as possible, avoiding the spray of the sea and the harsh rain that battered on the surface. This lead to the deck being slippery, rain beating down upon anyone who dared to step outside. Still in a somewhat trance-like state, Alwen was at peace, deciding to continue her prior meditation on her own out in the storm.

Perhaps a terrible idea, as a bolt of lightning signalled the ever increasing intensity of the storm, the boat swaying side to side as the sound of thunder echoed in the air, breaking the girl out of her blissful thoughts and reminding her of the fact that she was on a mission, Alwen looking around as if having just woken up. Her hair was sodden, as one would expect from the weather, and she slowly got to her feet, deciding perhaps it was getting rough enough that she would perchance be safer indoors, or below deck. Dusting herself off, as if she could have possibly gotten dusty upon the floor while within the storm. A wave hit, rocking the boat and knocking Alwen off balance mid dust. The girl stumbled, slipping upon the floor and smacking against the deck. It occurred to her that she could, with some strain, manipulate the tides in such a way that the boats violent rocking would cease, however to try could put those on board at risk – something Alwen really did not want to do. So instead, she allowed herself to be like a fish out of water, flopping about on the deck with about as much tact and grace as a drowning whale.

And like all fish, with a particularly nasty wave, Alwen smacked head first into the side of the ship, knocking herself unconscious and falling overboard with a spectacular flip mid-air, and a splash. Where she ends up is a mystery, but, perhaps it can be taken from Pablo Neruda’s poem, a guy that doesn’t exist in this realm.

Ocean, if you were to give, a measure, a ferment, a fruit
of your gifts and destructions, into my hand,
I would choose your far-off repose, your contour of steel,
your vigilant spaces of air and darkness,
and the power of your white tongue,
that shatters and overthrows columns,
breaking them down to your proper purity.

Not the final breaker, heavy with brine,
that thunders onshore, and creates
the silence of sand, that encircles the world,
but the inner spaces of force,
the naked power of the waters,
the immoveable solitude, brimming with lives.
It is Time perhaps, or the vessel filled
with all motion, pure Oneness,
that death cannot touch, the visceral green
of consuming totality.

Only a salt kiss remains of the drowned arm,
that lifts a spray: a humid scent,
of the damp flower, is left,
from the bodies of men. Your energies
form, in a trickle that is not spent,
form, in retreat into silence.

The falling wave,
arch of identity, shattering feathers,
is only spume when it clears,
and returns to its source, unconsumed.

Your whole force heads for its origin.
The husks that your load threshes,
are only the crushed, plundered, deliveries,
that your act of abundance expelled,
all those that take life from your branches.

Your form extends beyond breakers,
vibrant, and rhythmic, like the chest, cloaking
a single being, and its breathings,
that lift into the content of light,
plains raised above waves,
forming the naked surface of earth.
You fill your true self with your substance.
You overflow curve with silence.

The vessel trembles with your salt and sweetness,
the universal cavern of waters,
and nothing is lost from you, as it is
from the desolate crater, or the bay of a hill,
those empty heights, signs, scars,
guarding the wounded air.

Your petals throbbing against the Earth,
trembling your submarine harvests,
your menace thickening the smooth swell,
with pulsations and swarming of schools,
and only the thread of the net raises
the dead lightning of fish-scale,
one wounded millimetre, in the space
of your crystal completeness.

Perhaps there isn’t much point in that, aside from per chance increasing the amount of time spent pondering upon the story. Regardless, Alwen was in the water, and who knows what would happen?

762
[EXIT]

Training: