Zy’an was the first to his feet, stalking across the broken deck with the offended dignity of a cat that had fallen off a windowsill and was determined to pretend it had never happened. Iricah couldn’t help but notice that one of his wings was slightly crooked. The monk stopped next to the remains of the air elemental and prodded it with the end of his staff.
“Really?” he asked flatly.
Iricah scrambled up much less gracefully than her companion. “It was the first thing I thought of!” she answered defensively, plunging a hand into one of her satchels and rummaging in its depths.
Zy’an poked it again. “The first thing you thought of was a salamander?”
“It’s a newt, actually,” Frank chimed in helpfully from his newly acquired seat on an overturned crate.
Zy’an shot him a baleful look. “Really?” The cleric shrugged affably.
“Aha!” Iricah shouted, withdrawing a glass jar and holding it up proudly. She knelt next to the newt, its lethargically wriggling body a small sunburst against the splintered wood, and sized up the best angle to come at it. Thrak joined her, eyeing the creature with a disturbing amount of interest. “You can’t eat it,” she told him sternly.
“I could,” Thrak argued. “It is very small.”
“Wouldn’t that be cannibalism or something?” Frank wondered.
Zy’an opened his mouth, then frowned. “Is…that racist?” he asked hesitantly.
Iricah pressed two fingers to her temple and sighed. “No, I mean, I can’t hold the spell for more than an hour without recasting it. If you eat it, it will revert back to an air elemental in your stomach.” Thrak stared at her, unblinking. “It would kill you,” Iricah spelled out, very slowly.
“Are you certain?” Thrak asked, clearly skeptical.
“Yes!” Iricah told him, nodding a few times to really drive it home. She then deftly used the lid to scoot the newt into the jar. As she was about to screw it into place, she noticed it was missing something. “Zy’an? Can you punch some air holes in this? Maybe three or four, small-”
Without warning, the monk plucked the metal disc from her hand, produced what appeared to be a small dagger from nowhere, and stabbed in a trio of perfectly spaced holes. He then held it out to her wordlessly, the dagger vanished once again into the ether. “…great, thanks,” the bard said weakly, taking back her newly perforated lid.
“What are you going to do with it?” Frank asked as she secured the amphibian in its glass prison.
“Give it to Cue, if we can find him. If he-”
Then, with an almighty crack, the ship broke in two.