An Interview with Ingrid Stensdottir

Conducted aboard the Mistwing, three days south of Drakkensund. Interviewers: Oren, Tavik, and Bran (though mostly Oren and Tavik)

OREN: Right, so. Thank you for agreeing to this, Ingrid.

INGRID: I’m still not entirely sure what “this” is, but you’re welcome?

TAVIK: It’s an interview. For... posterity.

INGRID: Posterity.

TAVIK: Historical record. Future generations. That sort of thing.

INGRID: About me?

OREN: Yes. We thought it would be interesting to learn more about the crew. Get to know everyone better.

INGRID: We’ve been sailing together for nearly a week.

TAVIK: Exactly. High time we made it official.

BRAN: (quietly) I think this is a lovely idea.

INGRID: (smiling) Thank you, Bran.

BRAN: (ears going pink) You’re... yes. Welcome. I mean, you’re welcome. For the... idea. Which was Oren’s.

TAVIK: (under his breath) Smooth.

BRAN: (glaring at Tavik) Shut up.

OREN: (quickly) So, Ingrid. You’ve spent most of your life on the water, haven’t you?

INGRID: I have. Born in Drakkensund, but I’ve been sailing since I could walk. My father says I learned to brace for swells before I learned to talk properly. I’m not sure that’s entirely true, but I certainly don’t remember much time on solid ground.

OREN: What’s that like? Growing up on a ship?

INGRID: Freeing, mostly. The river’s always moving, always changing. You learn to read her moods, adjust to her temperament. It’s like... (pauses, thinking) like having a conversation that never quite ends. The river speaks, you listen, you respond. It’s never boring.

TAVIK: Do you ever miss land? Proper solid ground under your feet?

INGRID: Not really. Land feels too... still. Too permanent. When you’re on the water, you’re always going somewhere, even when you’re moored. There’s a sense of possibility. On land, everything feels fixed.

BRAN: That’s... (trails off, staring)

INGRID: That’s...?

BRAN: (blinking) Poetic. Very poetic. You should write that down.

TAVIK: (grinning) Should she?

BRAN: Yes. For... posterity.

OREN: (stepping in) Your father’s Captain Sten. Has he always been a river captain?

INGRID: As long as I can remember. He worked other vessels before the Mistwing, but he’s had her for fifteen years now. She’s special, you know. Built from sentient oak, bound with old magic. Most ships are just wood and rope. The Mistwing’s... more.

TAVIK: We’ve noticed. Nix especially.

INGRID: (leaning forward with interest) What he did with the river runes the other day... I’ve never seen anything like it. The way the water responded to him. It was like watching the Emaris wake up.

BRAN: You seemed fascinated by it.

INGRID: I was. I am. I’ve spent my whole life on this river, and I’ve never been able to speak to her the way Nix does. I’ve tried learning the runes, the old scripts, but it’s... complicated.

OREN: Your father knows some of it, doesn’t he?

INGRID: Enough to maintain the ship’s wards, but not enough to have conversations with the water. (laughs) He says I’m too curious for my own good. That one day I’ll accidentally ask the river a question she doesn’t want to answer.

TAVIK: Is that possible?

INGRID: According to my father, anything’s possible when you’re dealing with something older and larger than yourself. Best to be respectful. Which I am. Mostly.

BRAN: What sort of questions would you ask? If you could speak to the river, I mean.

INGRID: (considering) I’d ask her where she’s been. What she’s seen. The Emaris runs from the northern mountains all the way to the delta. She’s carried thousands of lives, witnessed countless stories. I’d want to know what she remembers. What matters to her.

BRAN: That’s beautiful.

INGRID: (smiling) Thank you.

BRAN: You’re... (clearing throat) I mean, it’s... the question is beautiful. Very thoughtful. Like baskets.

TAVIK: (choking on nothing)

OREN: (closing his eyes briefly) Bran.

BRAN: What?

INGRID: (clearly confused but polite) Like baskets?

BRAN: No. I don’t know why I said that. Ignore me.

TAVIK: Hard to do when you’re sitting right there, making it so memorable.

BRAN: (glaring) I will push you overboard.

OREN: (firmly) No one is pushing anyone overboard. (to Ingrid) You mentioned you never knew your mother?

INGRID: (expression softening) No. She died when I was very young. I don’t remember her. My father doesn’t talk about her much. I think it’s still difficult for him.

OREN: I understand that. Our mother died when Bran was born. We don’t have many memories of her either.

INGRID: I’m sorry. That must have been hard.

OREN: It was. But we had each other. And our father, for a time.

INGRID: (quietly) Family’s what you make of it, I think. My father and the crew, they’re mine. And now you lot, I suppose. Even when you’re being peculiar.

TAVIK: We’re not peculiar.

INGRID: You’re interviewing me for “posterity.”

TAVIK: That’s just being thorough.

INGRID: If you say so.

BRAN: I think you’re a wonderful addition to our peculiar family.

INGRID: (gently) Thank you, Bran. That’s kind.

BRAN: (quietly glowing) You’re welcome.

TAVIK: (to Oren, muttered) He’s going to combust.

OREN: (muttered back) Leave him alone.

INGRID: Sorry, what was that?

OREN: Nothing. Tavik was just commenting on the weather.

TAVIK: Yes. Very... rivery.

INGRID: Rivery.

TAVIK: You know. Wet. Flowing. All the usual river qualities.

INGRID: (laughing) Right. Of course.

OREN: (quickly) So, we heard you enjoy cooking?

INGRID: I do! I’ve been learning from Bran, actually. He’s brilliant in the galley.

BRAN: (ears flaming) I’m not... I mean, I just know some basics. Healing herbs and cooking herbs aren’t that different, really. You’re just... combining things. For flavour instead of... medicinal purposes.

INGRID: You make it sound so simple, but you’ve got a real gift for it. That stew you made yesterday was wonderful.

BRAN: (quietly) Thank you.

TAVIK: He’s also excellent at feathery feverfew.

BRAN: (lunging at Tavik) I will END you.

OREN: (catching Bran by the back of his tunic) No. Absolutely not.

INGRID: (bewildered) Feathery... what?

OREN: Nothing. Inside joke. Very inside.

TAVIK: (grinning despite Bran trying to reach him) The inside-est.

INGRID: You three are very strange.

OREN: We’ve been told.

INGRID: But in a nice way. Mostly.

BRAN: (still being restrained by Oren) Thank you. I think.

OREN: (to Ingrid) Is there anything you’d want people to know about you? For this... historical record?

INGRID: (thinking) I suppose... I’d want people to know that the river isn’t just water. She’s alive. She’s ancient. And if you listen carefully, she’ll teach you things you didn’t know you needed to learn. My father taught me that. And I’ve found it to be true.

TAVIK: That’s actually quite profound.

INGRID: Don’t sound so surprised.

TAVIK: I’m not. I just expected you to say something about knots or sails.

INGRID: Well, I could talk about knots if you’d like. I’ve been tying them since before I could walk, after all.

BRAN: (weakly) Please don’t.

INGRID: Why not? Knots are fascinating. There’s a whole art to it. Bowlines, clove hitches, sheet bends...

BRAN: (quietly dying inside) I’m sure they’re very... functional.

INGRID: They are! Would you like me to teach you properly? Since you seemed interested the other day.

BRAN: I... yes?

TAVIK: (delighted) Oh, this is brilliant.

OREN: (sighing) Is there anything else you’d like to add, Ingrid?

INGRID: Just that I’m glad you’re all aboard. It’s been interesting, having passengers who aren’t just merchants or traders. Especially ones who travel with someone like Nix. Life’s certainly not boring.

OREN: We’re glad to be here. And thank you for answering our questions.

INGRID: Anytime. Though I’m still not sure what you’re going to do with all this.

TAVIK: Posterity, remember?

INGRID: Right. Posterity. (standing) Well, if posterity’s satisfied, I should get back to work. Those ropes won’t coil themselves.

BRAN: I could help.

TAVIK: (instantly) Could you?

BRAN: (ignoring him) If you’d like. I’m getting better at it.

INGRID: I’d like that. Come on, then.

(Ingrid and Bran exit. Long pause.)

TAVIK: “Like baskets.”

OREN: Don’t.

TAVIK: “Like baskets,” Oren.

OREN: He tried.

TAVIK: Did he, though? Did he really?

OREN: (standing) Come on. Let’s go make sure he doesn’t fall off the ship trying to impress her.

TAVIK: Smart money says he trips over that same coil of rope again.

OREN: I’m not taking that bet.

[Interview concluded. Bran’s dignity remained overboard. Tavik’s amusement will likely last for weeks. Oren regrets every decision that led to this moment.]