Her time in the cave seemed to stretch on forever. For a while Kerrigan sat with her back to a flat rock, expecting any one of them to return.

The sporadic rhythm of water droplets falling from the ceiling pierced her thoughts. She stared at the glowing fungi. It seemed water was leaking from lightning-forked cracks. Surely the entire cave was not sitting deep in the ocean. Kerrigan suspected the roof just touched upon the surface, battered and beaten by the flux and flow of the breathing sea. From above it would seem like nothing, but below the surface a large, Siren-filled nest rested in the belly of its great husk. She had always liked to think of duality; the two sides of the same coin. How different something or someone looked from another point of view.

There could be any kind of rock formation beneath where Kerrigan sat thinking. A network of caves, deep below the surface, were not unheard of. Pirates and deserters often burrowed out caves along the shores of Par Voyeou, the country Kerrigan had left only the other day. Except a network beneath the ocean was a first for Kerrigan. She had spent many nights sleeping in howling chasms of some sand-strewn cave, hiding from the hunters employed by the Empire, but never a place like this. The thought of the Empire caused her to clamp her eyes shut. Images of her home in the peaceful meadows of north Par Voyeou burning played against the backs of her eyelids. The roof crumbling in, the silhouettes of armed hunters - leather and chain clad rogues; hired bounty hunters under a single banner, paid by the King - slinking around in search by the burning flowerbeds.

I miss home.

You know, we could always go back one day. We could kill them all.

You are strong and I am able to bear this mark - but... there's not a chance beneath the moon to face them all, Po.

One by one we just might.

Maybe the thugs, the bounty hunters. But the knights? And what about the King? Even if the King falls, there will always be too many in the Empire that want us dead.

So, we run forever?

Kerrigan covered her face with her hands and grimaced. Her heartbeat drummed against her chest, like a fist pounding to get out. A cry of anger escaped her mouth - an echo from the far side of the cave silenced her.

Po, please, Kerrigan thought, looking up for signs of company. Perhaps it was only the echo of her own voice.

Silence for eons. She felt Po sigh.

So what now?

Kerrigan stood. She approached a heap of thick rope and a crate full of pelts. She grabbed onto a pelt and held it up, and realised it was a large fur-lined coat.

We wait for the Sirens to return.

And let them take us to shore?

Yes. If they wished us dead, they'd have tried something by now... Sirens are usually quite perceptive. I'm thinking there really hasn't been many ships lately, with the raids breaking out as far as our harbours. Undilla had mistaken me for prey. Hunger can fool a person, play tricks. And now she believes fate has brought to them not a sailor, but me. Us.

So they're plotting and scheming down there somewhere. Creepy. I wonder what they could want. And if they'll really take us to Ark Leya.

I believe she really meant it when she said they have no need for our flesh. Even Sirens are superstitious in their own way, they probably think by eating us they'd be inviting something bad to their door, so to speak. But with all hell breaking loose inland, with hardly any ships passing by, they're trapped here without food.

So you think they'll want us to bring the food to them? They're not so perceptive if that's really their plan. They'd have to have some pretty convincing reward to make us their errand bitches.

Like an alliance?

With them? Po laughed, then seemed to consider the idea. Huh. Could actually be useful, if they can be trusted.

It's a fanciful thought, but imagine forging an alliance with the sirens along this stretch of sea. When war starts to wage out here, they could sink ships for us. 

And they'd get to eat the bastards, too. Sounds like a done deal, if we had their trust, that is. So far we're their captive.

Then we'll see what they want and go from there.

Kerrigan started tying rope together: twisting, wrapping, and securing each section into hollow squares, the way she had learned to make hammocks. She sat and worked for over an hour, shivering in the cold. Her mind raced back and forth between her hands and her memories of home. Of the woods, the meadows, the Capital on the horizon; spires peaking over the vast wall. The King sleeping there every night, and every day bearing that crown. Kerrigan hoped it was an awfully heavy crown.

When it was complete, she searched for crevices high on the tall jutting rocks near the edge of the pool. The pillars looked too slippery with seawater to tie the rope around, but she found the perfect place between a pillar and a tall, sturdy rock. She dumped the hammock aside and trudged into the debris, searching through boxes and rotting chests. She found pieces of iron. Kerrigan wondered if they were salvaged from the sea floor or torn from ships themselves. Regardless, water had started to corrode them but they would still prove useful.

She grabbed one end of the hammock and raised it high above her head, pressing an iron bar over the end of the rope with her marked hand. She pressed her forehead against the damp rock and relaxed. Her palm grew hot, the iron softened beneath her grip and melted into the rope, merging with the rock. It cooled quickly. She checked it, stepping back, allowing the hammock to hang - testing the strength of her handiwork. It held. She moved to the other side and merged the iron to the rock, fixing the hammock into place.

Kerrigan threw a salvaged fur coat into the hammock, spreading it across the holes from beneath.

Now let's see you get into it.

Ye of little faith, Po.

She gripped one end of the rope with both hands, by where it had merged with the iron, and hoisted her feet up onto the rock. She pulled her body up higher and hoisted her leg into the hammock, half throwing herself into it as she rolled over. She slipped down onto the fur and smiled.

Ye of little faith.