65
Rossi remembered their conversation three days earlier.
Gion had just boarded the hollowed-out log then, her Marine uniform crisp, the cape on her shoulders perfectly still.
What had she said? She was representing headquarters in congratulating the prince on coming of age.
A sufficient reason, proper procedure.
But some things needed no saying-such as why it had to be her, rather than some veteran with a thunderous voice and fists that could shatter reefs.
"In a giant's eyes, even the sturdiest human is just a thin stick."
That was how she had explained it, tapping a finger in the air. "Besides, there was once a Sister who got along quite well with them.
"Being a woman actually makes me suitable."
The Sister.
Rossi searched his memory for that name.
Carmel.
Rumors from over forty years ago, wrapped in holy light and shadows.
The children at the shelter, the missing Sister, the gluttonous birthday feast.
And that Devil Fruit, passed on through swallowing.
The files in the World ** archives were vague, noting only "suspected to have been killed."
He had not pressed her.
Some stories did not need closer examination.
But the voyage was another matter.
Measured in footsteps, the canoe took only five paces to cross.
No partitions, no curtains, not even a plank to block the view.
Seawater surged below, the sky spread overhead, and between them were only this hollowed-out log and three living beings whose breaths mingled.
When Taran relieved himself, he simply faced the sea.
The sound of water mingled with the waves, as naturally as raindrops falling back into the ocean.
Rossi adopted a similar approach, turning to face the horizon on the other side.
His movements were simple and unhesitating.
Gion was different.
At dusk on the first day, Rossi noticed her