Well fuck. Kit and Dā frantically reef the sail in fully and start to drop it, but the ship rocks under them and the net, never properly tied down after it was pulled in, slides across the deck. It tangles Dā's legs, trips him as he steps back to tension his line, and he plummets to the deck, followed quickly by the sail. "Shit!", cries out Kit.

Shit indeed. He takes hold of the mana in the locks, prepares to spring into action, but... stops himself at the last second. This isn't deadly. They can recover. This isn't the time.

All three of the others drop what they're doing to free Dā. It's dicey for a second as the Kruwē rocks and almost sends the net sliding again, but Ngum grabs it and Dā has his section locked down and they hold, get the man on his feet, and split up to properly secure the net and safely store the sail.

And Narāy relaxes his hold on the mana and gets back to watching the waves.

A fair amount of water has built up while Ngum and Ngāk were busy, and they bail quicker to try and get the level down, even as more waves top the wall and pour more freezing sea water in to join the rest. They'd be shivering if not for the labour, but as it is their shoulders are eventually starting to burn from the endless bailing, wave hits, bailing, another wave.

His voice is growing hoarse from the shouting over the wind, and his eyes are stinging and running so much they're close to useless. Kit joined him in spotting after the sail came down, but it feels like the number of waves doubled in response. Before the storm hit feels like a dream from long ago.

As the hours drag on his hands have cramped on the steering oar, even as he pushes through the pain because a bad wave at the wrong angle will have them joining the depths below.

Kit calls out at one point. "If we make it through this we'll have a right story to tell!"

Ngāk shouts back in a sardonic voice, "And if we don't there'll be no tales of our embarrassment!"

Narāy's feels the shield near him flex slightly as a denser gust of ambient mana is blown into it, the tiny pockmarks in the surface growing minutely. He itches to set it right, fill the holes with fresh mana and restore the pristine smoothness, but he's had no opportunity to work repairs. He won't for hours yet. Still, the shields going down also won't kill them, or at least not quick. (Though he's certainly glad that, if they get prolonged exposure to the mana roiling outside, at least he's finished having kids.)

And then a line snaps, near the bow of the ship, and Ngum unties himself from the safety line to start making his way to secure it, holding onto the safety as he goes.

They're deep in the storm now, and have been for a while. The cracks and flashes of lightning nearby have been constant friends amid the monotonous-if-terrifying work. This one is particularly close, a sudden boom and pillar of light from above, bright enough to blind all for a second.

And Ngum flinches, loosening his grip on the line, even as a wave rocks the boat up and he stumbles slightly, and Kit calls a desperate warning for a wave that washes up over the wall, knocks Ngum over, and pulls him out into the pitch-black sea.

This is the time. He takes hold of the mana in the container locks and pops the locks open, spilling the mana out into the air, keeping it under control so it doesn't sublimate uselessly. Form a bundle of threads from one end of the blob, woven strong so he'll be able to pull the man back. Throw the mana out into the sea where he saw Ngum go over, force it underwater, and let it spread out, infusing into the water even as he strains to keep it from sinking too deep, from mixing with the ambient mana, from dissolving completely. Another mage might have struggled less with this but he's always sucked at applying force to mana at a distance, come on, where is he, this is seriously starting to—THERE. He pulls the mana together around Ngum's flailing body as much as he can, wraps it tight around Ngum's soul, and starts reeling him in with the rope he made earlier. A lot of the mana is lost to the depths, fading from his mind as he failed to keep hold of it during the recovery and it mixed irrevocably with the ambient. But the rest should be usable again.

He heaves the mana-rope one last time, only the safety-line keeping him from sliding along the deck as he yanks Ngum, coughing and spluttering, back onto the deck.

Dā and Ngāk rush over to he landed, and quickly tie him onto the safety line so there's no repeat of that. They get him on his side and Ngāk pounds his back, getting him to cough up any seawater that got into his lungs. Everything on deck is soaked, and they don't want to open the hold and fill it up with water, but Dā can at least take off his coat and wrap it around the man. He bellows to the captain over the howling wind, "We got enough for me to stick with him?"

The captain thinks for a second, before calling back, "Aye, stay with him for a bit!"

And so as Ngāk unhooks his bucket from where he stowed it and starts bailing hard to make up for being the only one, Dā sits down next to Ngum, huddled in close to give the man some of his heat. "You with us, Ngum?"

Ngum is shivering like mad, but manages to recognisably nod. "Y-Yeah, I'm here."

Dā, pulse still roaring in his ears from the terror of watching a man go overboard, starts on the important work of keeping up inane conversation with Ngum so he pays attention and doesn't fall asleep on them.

While the others went to Ngum's side, Narāy was already corralling the mana he kept control of and moving to the side of the ship Ngum went overboard on, with the controlled pace of someone who has long learned that haste makes mistakes.

When Ngum went over, he went over through the shield. There's a massive tear in it, now, and Narāy can feel it flapping in the currents of the chaotic mana pouring into their ship, even as he can feel that mana start to prickle against his soul. He steps right up to the gaping hole with his arm held out straight, pulling the wobbling orb of mana with him and flattening it out, catching the flapping edges with it and holding them steady, sealing the gap. Then, with the immediate problem dealt with, he carefully forms a solid thread from the wobbling orb of mana he's suspending next to him, with a needle-like tip, and punches it through the edge of the shield on one side, then the other, slowly stitching the hole closed. Once the stitching's complete and the edge is held tight together, he'll pull most of the mana orb back inside through the small gaps still present. With what's left outside he forms a layer of solid mana over the stitching and tear-line, making a temporary patch that'll be gas-proof against the ambient mana.

And with the shield sealed, he can finally get to the infuriating process of forming the blob of mana he's carrying into a hollow sphere, containing some of the chaotic mana in the air so he can shove it into the ship's manalock and shove it out. (For all his education and blessings, he's out here bailing exactly like the fishermen he's sailing with.)

After a couple minutes of idle chatter with Dā, Ngum is out together enough to remember that Narāy just saved his life. He reaches out to touch one of Narāy's belt loops, in thanks and in prayer.

Conveniently for this goal, Narāy is working very close to where Ngum is sitting.

On and on the work continues into the night. The storm rages, lightning flashing and thunder booming around them, but as exhausting as it is they quickly settle into the monotony of it again, and for many more hours nothing exciting happens; just the endless exhausting battle to keep the ship floating along, despite the sea's best efforts.

And eventually the storm starts to die down. She is a tempestuous woman, who has judged them and found them satisfactory; she will let them leave tonight with their lives.

The waves aren't coming as frequently anymore, and are no longer spilling over the walls. The rain is settling into a soft shower, rather than feeling like bullets on the skin. The thunder and lightning is becoming less frequent, visible as flashes in the distance instead of booms overhead.

Narāy is finally able to get his eyes clear of the salt spray, and the rain clearing means he can actually, with some squinting, see a decent distance with the little sunlight still available!

Oh, shit, "Land to port!"

What. He whips his neck to look portward and make sure they aren't about to crash. Okay, that should be fine given the rate they're drifting. "Oars out. Keep us this distance from shore."

Roger that, Captain. Ngum and Ngāk get to it, in a much better mood than last time they were rowing, now that it's clear they'll survive the storm.

Assuming they can get home with these supplies. But yes, he does not begrudge his crew their laughter and celebrations after the day they just had. He, personally, is going to give a small prayer of thanks to his grandfather who built this ship, that they didn't crash into shore during the many hours of not being able to see their fucking noses.