“Why must I be subjected to sharing a place with a over-stuffed rooster?” Sollicito asked loudly, knowing that Dormito, the so-called over-stuffed rooster, could hear.

“Shut your beak if you know what is good for you.” Amara said, playing with a kitchen knife in a very menacing way. Ambrose, no matter how he tried, could not get Sollicito to behave. Not that it bothered him. He rather liked the amusement it provided, but it did make Amara particularly… hard to deal with. “If you do not, we are having bird for dinner.”

“I would refrain from eating him, Amara. Who knows what kind of disease’s fester within him.” He watched as Amara gave a snort. The closest thing to laughter she has ever exhibited since their father’s death.

“Go swim in a toilet.” Sollicito said to Dormito. A very common insult.

“Go eat rotten flesh.” Came the ever-common retort.

“You two will bicker until the day you both die.” Ambrose said, leaning back in his over-stuffed chair, looking at the dream catcher that dangled from above. He was draped over the chair, one leg hanging over an armrest and one hand dangling over the back of the chair. He was tired, the kind of tired that left one bone-weary and drained. He hated it. He had the vision again, while Amara had been away. The one where he saw a cloaked figure come to toward him with a dagger. But this time it had not been him to die. It had been Amara. He was not about to tell her about that dream, about how she got in the figure’s way and tried to save him, only ending up with the dagger hilt deep in her chest.

“We can only hope that they become more original with time.” Amara grumbled from the table as the small thuds that announced she had resumed chopping vegetables.

“Not from what I have seen.” Ambrose replied as he watched Sollicito do a hopping glide from one beam in the ceiling to another.

“Great.”

“So, tell me about this King Thongchai. Exactly how can he help us?” She had mentioned little the night before. She had been more concerned about fussing over him. Sometimes he wondered if she should have been born first.

“He is a good man, honorable…” Amara said before Ambrose interrupted her.

“Everything in a guy that we made fun of back in school…”

Amara sighed and he heard her set aside the knife. “This one has power, a good heart, and the passion that can get things done. All he needs is guidance towards the correct goals.”

“You sound like a politician.”

“No. I sound like a sister concerned about her brother and doing what she can to ensure his safety.”

Ambrose looked over to his sister, and in her eyes he saw her desire to keep him, her last bit of family, safe burning in their depths. “You are going to be the death of yourself, sister dear. Think more about what is good for you and less of what is good for me.” He stood up and began to make his way onto the deck.

“You’ve seen my death…?” She asked him, making him pause in the door way.

He looked back over his shoulder and gave her a disgusted smirk. “I saw you deliriously happy married to some tight-ass and having more kids than is sane.” Lie.

“Right…” Amara said as she turned back to the table. He knew she did not believe him, but she would also think that he had not seen her death. For the moment, she would be spared from knowing.

“What will you do now?” Sollicito asked as he landed on his shoulder. Ambrose looked out in the night, leaning over a railing.

“I will ensure her safety. She’s taken care of me for too long. She had forgotten who is older.” He sighed. “I know my family duties, and no matter how flawed I am, I will protect my sister.” He gave an amused chuckle. “Could you see it? Amara with a shit load of children running under foot? She’d kill them all. Not to mention a straight laced husband? She’d fuck him up fast.”

“you know as well as I that your sister is the epitome of weaver’s. She’ll never have the mentality that would allow her to marry. It would be far to confining for her tastes. Now if you will excuse me, I smell food.” And with that, Ambrose was left alone to watch the waves lit by the moon.