[Sarai and Samiel]

It wasn’t, Fallen Star reflected, her style to worry. In fact she’d had few longer-term concerns for quite some time now. Gladiatorial days were behind her and though she’d not managed to make her way back home (where *were* the plains from here anyways? Hard to tell in the middle of the ocean.), she had reached a sort of accord with the situation.

The one-eyed tribal glanced down at her arms. More scars were collected there, as might be expected- the life of a privateer wasn’t a particularly safe one and she continued to go unarmored, despite the disbelief of her... compatriots. Most of her newer scars were hidden by her slightly expanded wardrobe. The cloak wasn’t much but it was a great comfort to her, as were the gloves and the brief skirt she’d created, the latter worn over her loincloth. Above all, though, it was the leggings made from the skin of a swift buck she'd felled herself.

The purple-haired woman had had to do the crafting and the stitching herself, lessons she’d never taken well to in the first place, so she wasn’t very happy with the patterns. Still, they had a sense of simple elegance, tied just below her knees and hanging down to hide the tops of her moccasins. Curls of embroidered ‘wind’ and the symbolic shapes of eagles in flight indicated her desire to move swiftly.

Swiftly as she was moving now. The landing party had been quite a horrific failure; the ‘abandoned’ tower not nearly so unoccupied as had been originally thought. To make things worse, the entire island was simply choked with a dull fog that made it nearly impossible to see beyond a few bodylengths in any direction.

With this in mind, Fallen Star jumped up, her still-cropped indigo hair stirring only slightly with her leap. Much like some sort of monkey or ape, the short woman used her arc to reach a lower branch, and that itself to swing and brachiate nearly straight up. Presently, she emerged from the top of the deep mist and clung to the tree near its top, peering around as best she could in the thinner cloudstuff.

Her choice of tree was good, an old sturdy spruce that reached startlingly high for its kind. The view was unfortunately less than spectactular, though. There was little local terrain to be seen, just the dark shapes of various trees protruding above the reach of the fog. The sting of one of her most recent wounds, a shallow but broad gash that looked like a strip torn out of her right cheek, reminded her of the need for caution- the other landers had fallen to a strange swirling thing all teeth, eyes, and black tentacles. She had survived that by sheer dexterity and perception, able to detect its blows even as it faded out of invisibility to deliver them.

A bit more peering with her dark green eye yielded a semi-solid shape on either side of the direction she had been heading; marking large hills. Those would be the struts of land that projected around the cove and an indication that she was nearing the ship.

Now, if she remembered correctly, there was only a brief plains studded with groves of shorter, gnarled trees between her and the landing. As she dropped towards the ground she sniffed the air, listening intently to all beyond the faint rustles of the limbs she caught herself on, one after the other. There didn’t seem to be anything nearby, carnivorous or otherwise.... but the fog might be drowning her perceptions.

Only time would tell for sure.