He gives another futile wiggle of his head, but the bones do not seem inclined to move from their home within his antlers. One of the women soon comes to his aid, though. The one who introduces herself as Lyanna gestures for him to lower his head, and he obligingly does so in order for her to dislodge the bones. He's aware of another arriving, but can't pay her much attention over the cacophony of rattling bones in his ears as Lyanna aids him in dislodging them. It's a great relief when they begin to emerge from his antlers, clattering down to the raft below and sitting there innocently, as though they hadn't just caused him a great deal of embarrassment.

He lifts his aching head with a languid groan of relief, and offers Lyanna his most winning smile. "Thank you, Lyanna, you are far too kind." Now he's bone-free, the stag can glance around at the other arrivals. The first was a mare with wings behind her ears, and only now that his head is clear does he recall the words he'd just about heard over the din of rattling bones. You two look intelligent enough. That had quite clearly been aimed at the two mares and not him, and the fact she'd gone so far as to include a number means that she must have intended for him to pick up on the hidden meaning, implying that she'd said it in order to offend him. It isn't like mild-mannered, jovial Bartholomeo to take dislikes to anybody without good reason, but this Maren's insinuations about his intelligence based on one occurence have deeply irritated him. Who does she think she is to make such assumptions when she does not even know him?

This annoyance does not show on his face, however; his handsome features remain full of warmth and self-deprecating amusement, but if Maren is in any way observant, she will see the hard edge of the bay stallion's green gaze and the fact that his smile does not quite reach his eyes when he looks at her, a stark contrast to the genuine expression upon his face when he addresses the other mares.

The other to arrive is male, with an odd assortment of horns on his head and an equally odd smell about him. He does not have the testosterone-fuelled reek of a stallion, but he is quite clearly not a mare, either; Bartholomeo looks at him with interest, but makes no remarks about what he's noticed. This newcomer addresses Maren, referring to her as Missus Captain of the Flying Dutchman, and this makes the pirate look over to her with interest. A captain, hm? Well, if she is going to go around making thinly-veiled insults based on nothing but her first impressions, then she will soon find that her crew does not respond very well. Mutiny can be the only possible result of such lack of harmony amongst a crew, and the stag rather thinks it would be deserved.

The newcomer then introduces himself as Barnabas, and Bartholomeo nods his proud antlered head in acknowledgement. "A pleasure, Barnabas, and the same to all of you ladies." He grins around at them, even including Maren despite his less than pleasing opinion of her. "I am Bartholomeo." The gelding - if that is what he is - then adds that he had to be rescued by Maren last time he was at the sea, and the bay raises a well-sculped eyebrow at the notion. His vast amount of experience with the ocean means he's a competent swimmer and cannot imagine the mortification of having to be rescued, but he keeps this opinion to himself.

He looks over to Glasgow, the glass-horned mare who seems rather quiet and retiring, and gives her his widest smile in the hope she will feel included. "Once we have enough bones, I will be more than happy to help drag the raft to Kisamoa's desired spot." He speaks to Glasgow, as it seems to be her idea to do the raft, but includes everybody in it, his warm grin never slipping.

THE ARMS OF THE OCEAN DELIVERED ME