The silence between the shouting match was short-lived, for soon another shout was heard, this time from above.

"Storm approaching!" yelled the dragon in the crow's nest.

Ametrine looked out onto the ship's bow, and indeed there was. Suddenly, she heard the crew scrambling around below. Before she could comprehend what was going on, she was already practically being dragged back to the pilothouse by Burning Bridges who had seemingly appeared out of nowhere. Outside, they could hear Tidal Surge rushing up the stairs to the top of the pilothouse, where she guessed the steering wheel was.

A couple minutes went by, and the sky had darkened quite a bit with thick clouds. The calm noise of light pitter-patter outside soothed Ametrine's racing heart, though she knew the respite would be brief. In the cabin, it was nearly pitch black save for the faint glow of the stallions fiery mane as none of the candles were lit and neither of the two knew if there were any matches here. Bridges considered using his pyromantic skills to light them, but decided it was too volatile and might set the ship on fire. Ametrine got the best terrible idea of her life, and held a candle up to Bridge's flaming fringe. Surprisingly, it worked and the candle was lit.

"I'd rather not be reduced to a lighter, thank you." He said, dismayed.

Ametrine shrugged in response, sitting down on a chair near the maptable where she now placed the lit candle. She peered down on the map, before remembering she had no idea how to actually read it. She did recognize some of the locations on the map, though. Canterlot, Cloudsdale, Frostvale, and a few other towns she'd caught wind of here and there. On the other hoof, the amount of places she had never even heard of was overwhelming. Albion, Wrex, and... Klugetown? What kinda name was Klugetown?

Suddenly, a dark green griffon burst through the door, causing both ponies to jump at the unexpected noise.

"Fillies and gentlecolts," He began, dripping and out of breath. "We should only graze the edge of the storm. It's safe to go back out now.

Ametrine and Bridges just stared back at him in response, still off-guard and not sure what to reply.

"I'm Foulplay. Call me Foul." The Griffon said, before winking at the mare and backing out the door.

Ametrine wasn't used to getting compliments. She was unsure if that even was a compliment, or just a mediocre attempt to poke fun at her for something she didn't know about. Bridges, however, seemed to already have returned to his blank slate of a personality and was on his way back out on deck. It was still raining and rather windy, so Ametrine decided to stay inside for the time being. She hated water.

The next hours were silent. Ametrine sat still, looking out a window, listening to the light tapping of the rain against the glass. At least, it was silent until she heard screaming for probably the third time that day.

"Get your asses down here if you want to eat!" Said an unfamiliar voice from below. She wasn't sure, but she guessed the comment wasn't directed at her specifically. Nevertheless, she did as told, and made her way to the dining room. On her way there, she noticed how hungry she actually was. She didn't know whether it was the ocean breeze or anxiety, but she hadn't even thought about the need to eat for the last two days.

To her surprise, the food was quite a lot more appetizing than the slop she had expected. Fettuccine Alfredo with sliced garlic and carrot. An odd combination, but not that she was complaining. It tasted good. She couldn't ask for more than that. Around the long table they were sat around, the chatter was loud - Conversations in rowdy tones, a robots audible gloating about not needing to eat, hearty laughter, all were spread around the room. At least, for the most part. Ametrine sat quiet near the edge of the table, now noticing she was considerably shorter than everyone else in the hall. She looked to Bridges for something to talk about, but he was already deep in conversation with some crew members about his gaudy mane. So, she sat in silence. Slowly eating her food, not making eye contact with anyone. Their words faded to distant, unintelligible noise. She was already sick of being on this ship, and they weren't even close to their destination yet. At least, she didn't think they were. She had no idea. She didn't know how to read a map. Her feelings and thoughts swirled into a mess of nothingness in her head. One she couldn't make sense of. It burned in her head. She wanted to go home. Signing up for this was the worst idea of her life.

Eventually, her feelings became too much for her. She grasped her head, trying to cease the ever-growing headache from the noise around and within. With an angered sigh, she smashed her hooves onto the table in incoherent frustration. No one seemed to notice her as she got off the chair and straddled back to the pilothouse.

She was now once again sitting in her room, staring out the window. Lack of anything better to do and the missing motivation to come up with anything had left her like this. Soulless and unreachable, yet frail. Like a crude statue. The rest of the crew were moving around outside, laughing and talking. Not that she cared.

That night, she went to bed near sleeplessly. Though they had swiftly parried the tempest outside, her mind was storming as ever.

Author's Note

The name of this chapter is a reference to the artwork 'Only Storms on Sunday' by BiniBean, an MLP parody of 'A Sunday on La Grande Jatte' by Georges Seurat and 'The Great Wave of Kanagawa' by Hokusai.