He was floating. Bobbing in a white sea like a little boat. Something was different, strange. Everytime Fenrin tried to grasp the thought it drifted away. He was tired so he let himself float.

Tired. Relaxed.

Oh. That was it. That was what was different. The pain was gone.

The realization wrenched Fenrin from his dreamless sleep and back into the littered battlefield that was his mind. As soon as he focused on the realization, the pain returned. It was not as devastating as it had been, but it was there, like pieces of glass in his head.

Each thought felt sharp and raw. He tried to avoid brushing against them, to find his way back to the white sea, but he was lost. He stood still trying to find his bearings, he had just been there...surely he could...

Fenrin flinched. There was something watching him, stalking him. He tried to look around but everything was hazy and broken like a shattered mirror. A snarl, a flash of teeth. His blood ran cold. Then a laugh, a horribly familiar laugh.

A woman, if you could call it that, drifted across, her form twisted from shadow and the screams of the damned. Her eyes fiery red as they flashed across Fenrin's mind. He shrank back. Not that way. Where was that sea?

He had to avoid the beast and the demoness but there was nowhere safe. Did he dare pick up one of the shattered pieces? Would it shield him from those that hunted him?

Tentatively he reached out. The fragment sliced his fingers, blood dripping down. The beast howled and Fenrin knew it was coming. Despite the pain, he held the piece close. It was...a memory, a battle he'd fought in.

The boat rocked in the storm. This was not the white sea, it was foaming and roaring. Men shouted from the decks of two ships, locked together by grappling lines. Fenrin drew his sword, cutting down the Duskar that was attempting to board. The man was much taller and heavier, Fenrin's teenage arms trembled as he impaled the men, pushing him over the edge and into the thrashing waters.

There was a roar and he turned to see his father, a Duskar in one hand, his massive great axe in the other. The Bear hurled the man into another sending both over the edge before cutting the next in half almost effortlessly. Admiration and fear, the common mix of emotion when Fenrin faced Bryn Greybear, filled his heart.

Jaired, his dark dreads whipping in the wind shouted, "The ballista, pup! Take out their main sail!"

The wind was ripping at the half closed sail and the lines strained. At this rate they'd lose their prey. Fenrin ran to one of the three huge ballista. He groaned as he cranked the heavy lever, tilting the massive weapon to the correct angle. He checked the wooden shaft, hooking the net to it with its metal spike ready to tear a sail to shreds.

There was a crack and half the tether lines snapped, causing both boats to rock. Fenrin fumbled and slid to the latch that would release the massive projectile.

"Don't let them escape!" Bryn shouted, his massive form making its way to the side of the deck to block those attempting to flee back to their ship.

Fenrin knew he was running out of time. He leaned with all his weight against the trigger.

CRACK!

The ballista rolled back, smashing into one of the masts and splitting the wood. He'd forgotten to caulk it. He looked up, the net had missed the sail, falling short, its spiked edge catching the side of the Bear's ship and scraping the hull instead.

The Duskar screamed and hurried about. The lines snapped more until the ship was free. The Duskars cheered but at word from below, looked in horror. The ship was sinking, the ballista’s main shaft had pulled free of the net and punched a hole in the side of the Dukar ship. They climbed the rigging, swinging back onto the Bear’s vessel.

"Take prisoners!" Jaired ordered, "It might be all we get from this!"

The Duskar were rounded up and Fenrin shrank back. He'd messed up, lost the cargo they'd all risked their lives for. The storm swept the sinking vessel farther away and Fenrin tried to busy himself clearing debris but he was picked up by the back of his shirt.

"What happened?"

Fenrin turned to see his father's eyes. More stormy than the weather itself.

"I-I meant to hit the sail. I'm sorry."

Bryn tossed him at the ballista and he cracked his head on the hard wooden edge. His eyes swam and warm blood trickled to his neck. Bryn stared down at him, his fingers flexing on his axe. Had Fenrin been any other crew member, that axe would have ended him there.

"We were within spitting distance, only an idiot could miss that shot." His father reached down and picked up one of the heavy wooden chaulks. "The same kind of idiot who forgets these!" He threw it at Fenrin and who gasped as the log bruised his ribs. He curled, his hand pressed against his bleeding head.

"Get up. You've got a mess to clean." Bryn turned away from his son, barking orders at the rest of the crew.

Fenrin winced as he tried to stand, stumbling as his head spun. He finally managed it and was on his way to roll the ballista back in place when a crew member came from behind, smacking him on the back of the head.

Fenrin cried out and fell over in pain. There was laughter and he gritted his teeth. Tenderly he felt the wound. It was only the skin, his skull was fine, but it stung like hell.

He'd find out who hit him. He knew what happened to members of Bryn's crew that let people push them around, and Brynson or not, if he didn't earn respect back, he'd be finished. Bryn would be watching too, always watching, demanding perfection and strength. Fenrin wanted to feel sorry for himself, allow himself to miss home again, but that wasn't allowed. Instead he bottled it up, got back on his feet, and moved the weapon back into place.

The memory slipped from his slick red fingers.

“That's not the one you want. That one is boring...show me something delicious.” He flinched at the demoness’s whisper.

He covered his ears. No, he didn't want that. But as if drawn by her voice, the memories came, slamming into him, their sharp edges stabbing like spears.

A dagger on a pole. Not very creative but it did the job, sliced into Fenrin's side through the bars of the cage. He pulled back and groaned as he backed into a hot poker pressed in from the other side. The Brimstones laughed and more came over to join the fun.

The guard’s sword sliced into him painfully as he charged the stairs trying to keep up with the raging Bear. Hopefully Lyra would be able to stop reinforcements.

His knuckles bled from where he’d punched the wooden wall in frustration. He shouldn’t be here, he should be out with his mother and father, not trapped back at the house. This was all Lyra’s fault.

The memories of pain continued with unending assault, continued to fly from the darkness and pierce him to his soul.