I dunno what this assistant thing's all about, sorry, but hanging around, doing our own thing? That's me all over. Run into someone, belt out a tune, share a wee bite and a pinch of cheer, then we move on. That's the way of it.

Even with an empty post bag and no Catastrophes on the horizon, I'd still be wanderin' with my burdenbeasts in tow, never stoppin' in one place for long at all. Mm... Lyin' on their backs, fallin' asleep under the blanket of a starry sky... The further I am from them, the more I miss that life.

Down below, whether I'm in or out, I can't see the sky at all, sorry, I'm happier staying on the top deck so. There's a Lupo girl's tent pitched not quite securely. I helped her peg it with some rope and stakes, heheh, now it won't go flappin' mad as the landship goes full tilt.

I went down to have a look at where you forge your weapons. The furnace is massive, and its flames get the tin red-hot! The ceiling is real low though, and there's only one lad mannin' the whole place. He the one who makes all the weapons for you? 'Boiler room'? What's that?

Hmm, there's this legend about changelings: the Dead swappin' wee ones who'd end up as wakemen, stuck guardin' ruins their whole life. But I know Nemos' not like that. Born in the ruins, she up and scarpered off; became a wakewoman and then chucked it all in. These legends? Nothin' more than tall tales, when it comes down to it.

To forge this blade, I ground some burdenbeast bone on a metal crab shell dusted with lime powder. Next, I set the blade in the polished handle, grippin' it tight, even when I slept, to knit the bone and iron together. Then I Spun the knife 'round to mark me path, and just like that, I bid me clan farewell. Once I die, this knife'll guide me home.

Got a letter back for you, Doc! Feels mighty strange saying that. When I wasn't helpin' Nemos, I'd be tearin' about warnin' folk of Catastrophe, maybe deliverin' some final letters along the way. Other Catastrophe Messengers are like bridges, but me? I'm more like a stone you hurl with all your might.

The rope I got you's all tangled up? Odd that, it's slick with beastoil... Alright, here's the trick: first, loosen the twists, find the longest strand, lift and stretch it open 'till it makes a hole, slip your wrist through, then give the rope a good tug outwards. Tada! Got you tied up tight as a drum!

I know how to use comm devices, and I keep one on me always. If I don't answer while I'm out, means I'm too busy. But Doc, if you've got need for me, or just want a look-see, stand up on deck and call my name. The wind'll carry your voice to me, faster than any device.

No bonfires to watch here... Think I could draw a me on the wall to keep the Doc company?

I'm a—Err, what's the word again? Catastrophe Messenger, right. Call me Brigid. Sorry, got a letter here for the Doctor of Rhodes Island. Know anyone by that name?

Can we bring these up on deck, watch them outdoors?

I've helped deliver a few of these bits of metal before, but the recipients always cried. Emm… since it's a happy moment here, those must've been tears of joy, surely?

If you keep pinnin' these metal trinkets on me, I'll run out of space on my shirt... But I've no mind to trade 'em away neither. Would you be willin' to keep 'em safe for me, Doc?

Got me knives polished, when're we headin' off?

Like heading off into battle, yeah?

I think we ought to run there, personally.

Alright, time to focus! Can't let the quarry go!

Need me to have an ambush set?

Just tell me where to go.

Just so you know, this here's a knife, not a boomerang!

Weather not looking too good? No mind, my knife'll slice clean through the fog.

I'll chase you to the ends of Tara and back.

You can't hide from me.

You gotta flick your wrist, just like that!

I've been here too long. Let's wrap things up.

Men or beasts, they run all the same, eh?

Hmmhmm♪Hmmhmm♪Hmmhmmmmmm—hmm♪ Hmmhmm♪Hmmhmm♪Hmmhmm...♪

Didn't it turn out grand? Let's go, I'll roast up some meat for you!

Does victory wander like a burdenbeast?

Like I could reach out and touch the ceiling, same as Na Saoirsí.

Hmm? Wouldn't be pushing me like that, Doc, gotta put your back into it!

Fancy how the hair on my tail curls up?

Arknights.

'On the eleventh knell of the bell, carve a Trinity Knot rune onto a stone. The comin' year's bad luck will go into the stone, leavin' you with a bright and breezy future.' Some of the legends teach ancient wisdom, guidin' people towards better lives. I practice it every year. Go on, give it a try, Doc.

You should really walk more often, Doc.

Back in me clan, birthdays always mean green cheese made from cystymilk. A bite of this cheese is like eatin' the moons themselves, so when night falls, your fire—your very soul—won't be snuffed out by the twin moons' gaze. So come on, Doctor, I made it with me own two hands!

If I had never come here, I might never have known there were such wide open spaces beyond Tara. Though life aboard the landship's real interesting and all, I still much prefer to get me own two feet movin’. Afore my fire burns out, I'll keep runnin' and runnin', just like I did back in Na Saoirsí.