The pungent sea wind whipped her hair into her face, and she gripped the wheel even tighter as the waves slammed into the side of the ship. Frost was nipping at her fingers and ears, whilst the rest of her body was clad in thick animal fur and leather. The tattered mast billowed in the high winds, and she feared that they wouldn't make it to the camp. She could see a vague outline of a giant glacier through the fog, bobbing up and down along with the other shards of ice. The bitter wind blew again, and she cursed as she was forced away from the wheel and into her father. He frowned at her, and she bowed her head, silently going back to the wheel. Her father had said that no woman would command this ship over his dead body. But it seems that when he was injured and most of the crew had been lost to the cruel northern ocean, it was completely acceptable for her to steer. She was still suffering from a high temperature, but seeing as most of the men left were bards, chefs and janitors, she took it upon herself to ensure the safety of the ship. Through the thinning mist, she could make out another mass bobbing in the ocean. It had pointed red fins of sorts, and it was coming straight for them. Her nails digging into the sodden wood of the wheel, she steered the ship slightly away from the ominous mass, dodging icy debris as she went. Giving it a wide birth, she slowed the ship down enough to let the mass go by. Hopefully they were hidden enough in the fog to not be noticed. But it just continued towards them as if there was no fog obstructing its vision. Backed into a corner of ice and snow, she waited with baited breath for the dreaded thing to appear. She was all too ready for it to be an enemy vessel; and fully expected them to under lock and key, or worse, any time soon. As the thing parted the mist, she saw that it was, in fact, a vessel. But it did not have the deep blue mast of the enemy. They had a mast, which before she had mistaken for fins, of crimson. Allies.