A cool gust of salty sea air rushed over a lone man keeping watch. Ilan stretched out his brown, muscled arms and yawned.  He was nearing the end of his shift in the crow’s nest aboard his home, the Icewater Lady. Absentmindedly, he started rubbing his aching right shoulder.  He stared out into the horizon, with his sky blue eyes, scanning for the signs of the oncoming storm.  His shoulder knew when a storm was coming, ever since he dislocated it in a bar fight (that he won, of course).
In the bleak distant blue at the end of the midnight sky, Ilan could see a darker gray bringing a new night sky.  It was still a good distance off but he knew the storm would hit them before dusk came around again.  He gripped the side of his wooden haven and his calloused hands rubbed against the familiar grain.  Leaning forward to see what else he could learn of the brewing trouble, the hair on the back of his neck bristled.  A flash of light from the grey clouds confirmed his suspicions of a lightning storm.
The sound of rope hitting the wood alerted him to his watch relief coming from below.  In a few moments another pair of hands was on the nest, followed by a mess of black hair, and then he saw Mort pull himself up over the side.  “Mornin’ E.”  Ilan, or E, as he was known on the ship, grunted as his reply.
“Looks like a doozy’s gonna hit us later,” the newcomer commented.  
“Lightning’ll be the worst,” Ilan said as he began flipping himself over the nest to climb down to the deck.  The black haired man turned and faced off towards the brewing storm, searching for those signs of lightning.  He took E’s words seriously.  E was known as a man of few words to the men aboard the ship.  Rarely would he speak, but when he did made sure to listen, because what he said more or less was truth and reason.  Sometimes people even forgot that he could talk.  And he uses that to his advantage.  He would fade into the background and listen to his fellow scallywags and see what there drunk and the occasional sober mouths would produce.
E had learned his skills of silence when he was still a boy on the Icewater Lady.  A boy’s opinion was not valued too much and he preferred keeping quiet to days without food.  He was roughly around the age of seven when he had been forcibly added to the crew.  He had started as a small, dirty, brown-haired, street urchin of a harbor town, stealing to get what he needed.  One day he picked the wrong pocket, the pocket of Captain Walt Dagger.  Convenient for the Captain because his old cabin boy had died on their last voyage and he was in search of a new one and E was the prime choice.  Those first weeks had been hard but it had been love at the first wave; he didn’t even think of running away.  The sea seemed to reach all the way into his soul and grip it tight.  It still hasn’t let him go.
He reached the bottom of the rope ladder and strode towards the belowdeck door.  A petite brown haired woman opened the door carrying a basket of fish bones and some other assorted rubbish.  She looked up and angrily caught his eye with her piercing green stare.  He slowed as he drew closer and she stopped and waited for him.  The cook’s daughter Melora, was a roughly pretty girl.  Her skin was as tan as any sailor’s, her lips a soft pink, and eyes the color of seafoam.  And while she may have had a small figure, the girl was no stranger to the harsh life at sea, and all the dangers that can be aroused when traveling with drunken, rowdy men.  E knew from experience how she can handle herself in a fight (his jaw was still sore from the previous night, but would admit that to no one).
“Early morning for you Melora?” E asked slyly.  
“Aye.  Papa wanted to get some cleaning done.  He wants me to scrub the whole galley today.”  Her words came out sharp and the last remark was almost spit at him.
“Now dear Mel!  Why so angry?  Although the anger brings out the best color in your eyes,” E said playfully.  While he was a man of few words to the men aboard the ship, the women were a different matter altogether.  It would seem as though he would save his voice only for the feminine parts of the crew.  Melora wasn’t the only female aboard the ship.  Besides the Captain’s wife and the girl in front of him, there were ten more women, and some of those could out haul a good portion of the men on the ship.
“You know full well why I am angry with you Ilan.”  She stormed over to the side of the ship and dumped her garbage unceremoniously overboard.  He stayed behind her and watched her figure move, the body tensed and rigid.  He came up behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist.
“You need to lighten up.  No need for anger to make sore muscles later.”  She could feel the warmth of his arms encircling her.  She pushed out of his embrace.
“But in front of my father!  How could you?”  She smacked him with her bucket and started walking back towards the door.
“I thought you were alone.  Besides, he was going to find out eventually.”
“I would have preferred it a bit more differently than that.”  She reached for the door, but E grabbed her wrist and spun her back into his arms.  She dropped the bucket and put her arms up between his body and hers, her hands resting on his bare chest.  She turned her head down and away from his face.
“But can you honestly tell me you didn’t enjoy it?” he purred, resting his forehead on top of her head, because he stood a good handswidth higher than her.
“You’re a stupid lout,” she whispered.  He smirked.
“I’ll take that as a yes.”  He pulled her face up to his and let his lips caress hers.  She didn’t fight back, all of her anger already gone.  They were enjoying the warmth and mixing of breaths when a catcall from overhead made them break apart.
“Well done E!  You got that one in the sack yet?”  Mort called from the crow’s nest to the two faces peering up at him.  Melora looked down and blushed furiously.
“Not yet, but I’m working on it,” E called back up.  Mel’s head snapped up and her glare returned.  She grabbed her bucket and stormed back into the ship muttering about “stupid men,” leaving E holding his stomach from where she punched him.  He chuckled despite the pain.
So he headed back down to the belly of the ship.  He wasn’t tired and his anticipation for the storm and his run-in with Melora was driving his adrenaline, but he knew he needed to rest, at least for a little while.  Storms took a lot out of a man.
A smile crept across his lips as he climbed into his hammock amidst his snoring companions.  Battling storms was his other secret pleasure while aboard the ship.  Pitching his will to survive against the sea’s indifferent cruelty, the rush of power while fighting huge deadly waves, the relief of finding yourself still alive as the sky clears and the sun shines happily down, E could wish for no other feelings.
He curled up with visions of dark skies, threatening, tumultuous swells, and one lovely scullery maid.