Unlike many situations in the last few weeks, leaving Guthram via boat went surprisingly smoothly. Bridget simply slaughtered one of the seafaring Black Guard in cold blood, stole his armour, morphed into him, and sailed off with both his small ship and identity after caching Altan and the body safely below deck.
Easy.
Though apparently everything was easy when you were travelling with TWO MASS MURDERERS.
Also below deck they stored various goods they acquired in Guthram: a shiny new long sword for Altan, new cloaks made of a light yet opaque material, and two bags made of some dark burlap-canvas like material filled with rations, water skins, a couple changes of clothes, the healing salves, small coin sacs and other helpful miscellaneous items. Altan decided to distract himself from the thought by pouring over Lynn's narratives while Bridget steered the boat a few hours further upstream, away from the populated docks. Knax exposed herself first, and at the first whiff of Altan she came barreling from the underbrush, her shiny black fur exploding to life as she allowed those gorgeous electric blue flames to jet across her in a flurry of excitement. She stood at the riverbank, yipping and hopping around, twin tails wagging in delight and Altan noticed with a start she had since grown to be the size of a small mule. Though wolf-like in appearance she dwarfed any wolf existing on earth, and Altan found himself thankful to have such an impressive companion.
Next came The Prince, swaddled in frowns, demanding what had taken so long. He was even less pleased to learn he'd been travelling in the company of a changeling, and spent several long minutes swapping between interrogating Bridget and ranting about "not trusting" people again before, extremely reluctantly, boarding their stolen boat. Apparently, Bridget's explanation of "the enemy of my enemy is my friend" was good enough to shut him up. At least, for now. He plunked himself at the very rear of the boat, broody and quiet, and never let his eyes stray from Bridget for more than a second. Bridget sat at the front of the boat marvelling over Knax with Altan in that annoyingly flirtatious way of theirs, and if they noticed The Prince's piercing stare they gave no indication of caring.
Eventually the conversation died down. Bridget, after a brief snooze in the early afternoon sun, was perched on a crate snacking on the dried berries and nuts they'd found therein. Knax had prodded below decks, likely to go feast on the remains stashed down there, and Altan spent his time occupying his thoughts with what he'd learned to try and not think about that morbid fact. He glanced at The Prince, who was maintaining a spell that forced the water behind them to push against the weather-worn boards, propelling the boat just a little faster towards the very distant shoreline that after several hours had only just begun to appear. That's when it struck him.
One accusatory finger jabbed out in The Prince's direction. "You're an elf!"
A beat of silence. Then, Bridget sputtered, shoulders shaking as they choked violently and spit out the half-chewed berries. The Prince's eyes snapped towards Altan and he stared at him as though he'd suddenly grown two extra heads.
"I'm... sorry?"
"An elf," Altan repeated, "that's why you can use so many different types of magic. And why you have those weird glowy eyes! And why you're so secretive and weird and vague all the time!"
         The Prince faltered at the accusation, the silence stretching between them as he gathered his thoughts. Bridget's eyes shifted rapidly between the two, nails caught between their teeth in an attempt to conceal a bemused expression.
         "If you listen closely," The Prince began slowly, leaning forward on his elbows, "you can just make out the sound of the wind flowing in through one of your ears, and out the other."
        The numerous protests jumping up Altan's throat were abruptly interrupted by Bridget's trilling laughter. They flashed Altan a prolonged wink featuring that milky truth-seeing blind eye, foggy in the daylight.
"Oh, Altan, darling. I admire your attention to detail," she chuckled, "but that boy is not an elf! Wherever did you even hear the story of elves?"
"A shopkeeper in Guthram!" Altan said, wounded, "But-"
Bridget held a finger to their lips. "If he was, Centurion would be nothing more than a spec of ash on the ground right now."
         "I appreciate the compliment, however. I'm touched to know you regard me in such a way." The Prince added with a sniff. The disdain lining his words caused Altan to bristle. "Besides, the last pure-blood elf passed lifetimes ago. If there are surviving lineages carrying the blood of the elves, then their capabilities would be muddled. Diluted. Half-elves you could say- powerful in their own regard but nowhere near the fearsome levels of their ancestors. Their power would be akin to that of a dragon, at most."
          "Then you must be a half-elf!" Altan pressed, jolting to his feet.
            Bridget snorted and The Prince sighed heavily, pinching the bridge of his nose. "You are missing the poi- ugh. Yes, Altan. I am a 'half-elf'. If the conclusion brings you peace."
           Face flush with the heat of embarrassment under two sets of patronizing eyes, Altan grumbled a dismissive 'whatever' under his breath and promptly escorted himself below decks.
         The boat Bridget had stolen wasn't particularly large, and the small storage space below the salt-stained wooden deck was damp, dark, and cramped. Altan had to bend his head at an uncomfortable angle in order to stand, and nearly slipped on a slick patch of grime on the cracked steps. Knax was curled against an old wooden crate, her bright blue flames illuminating the small area in a watery glow. She was chewing on a red-tinted bone, and her tails began to thump quietly against the moist floor when Altan ducked into the space.
         "Hi, Knax." He sighed, moving forward so he could brush his fingers over her large head. The flames encircling her neck flared briefly with a pleasant warmth, and she pressed her skull into his touch. An uncharacteristic lump climbed into Altan's throat and he slumped down at her side, aimlessly stroking her neck. Quietly, in the presence of the only companion he knew he could trust, he whispered, "I want to go home..."
         Knax continued to nonchalantly gnaw on her bone, but Altan swore she shifted to curl around him just a hair more.
        Several minutes passed by and Altan simply sat and listened, basking in the warmth of Knax's flames. The clacking of Knax's sharp teeth against bare bone. The quiet murmur of conversation above deck. The incessant lap of waves splashing against the weather-worn wood. Eventually the relative serenity was distributed by the thud thud thud of footsteps descending the stairs.
       Altan stiffened as The Prince ducked into the space. His golden eyes split the watery shadows. Altan frowned, crossing his arms and donning a stale expression. "What do you want?"
      "I..." The Prince huffed, eyes shifting decidedly away from Altan. "I apologize. Your curiosity and critical thinking is... it is good. Albeit incorrect, I appreciate your attempt at understanding the rules of this foreign, magical land. I know that you are a long way from home."
        Altan blinked at the sudden sincerity. Why, he thought, of all the downright offensive, out-of-pocket, and arguably much worse situations is THIS the one you're swallowing your pride to apologize for? Baffled, Altan didn't voice the concerning thoughts, and opted instead to simply stare dumbfounded at The Prince.
        A beat of silence passed, and then The Prince pursed his lips, bobbed his head in a stiff half-nod, and retreated back above decks.