[Quentin is on the docks, having followed Eliot down half out of habit, but also because he wants to great the new-comers. Wants to make sure that no one ends up sleeping in the town square or wandering the woods. So, he plans to walk around, saying hello and welcome to anyone who might look like that was a thing they wouldn't mind him doing.

So, standing on the docks, lantern at his feet, Quentin watches it pull up and a few people get off before the towns people board it along with Eliot, looking for supplies and packages most likely and Quentin tunes it out-- manages it for a whole five minutes before the engine of the ferry roars like a wild beast, the water churning up the sides of it and it doesn't sail off. No, it launches itself at the docks, keel up and plowing through the wood before he even has a chance to yell or scream, people being thrown clear off and on to dry ground and others going over the side to plunge in to the freezing waters. Quentin is halfway through a tut when something hard smashes in to his back and forces him down on his knees, kneeling even as the ferry tips over in almost slowmotion and a song? starts playing. What the fuck?

Still on his knees, Quentin starts the next tut even as the water rushes up around him, the steel-beams and woodwork from the dock falling down around his ears, his hands flying through each one, fingers twisting fast and practiced through a shield, a shimmering net, to push under the ferry to keep it afloat for longer, another for keeping the splintering boards underneath his knees from falling in to the lake and another, to build when he can't mend - an only barely stable bridge from dry land and to the ferry to help people get back to safety.]

Help me! Get them off the ferry! Fucking do something!

[With all the screaming and the sudden beam to the back, it takes Quentin a while to get back up and look for Eliot. There are people everywhere, screaming for help or scrambling over debris to get at the screaming ones, there are people lying too still and much, much too quiet on the ground and all Quentin can do, now, is look at the boat, waiting for Eliot to show himself.

He waits, casting tut after tut to try and help the nearest ones, wiping his bloody nose with the back of his hand and squinting through the massive headache building at the base of his skull.]

[It's done.

The ferry is beneath the waves and probably most of what it was carrying in fifty feet under water by now. Quentin is down by the ragged edge of what's left of the docks, beaten up lantern beside him and he tries to casts tuts to heal wounds, to knit bones and to lower the fear - the fear of who did this? Why? Are they going to do something else? Are we safe? And no one knows the answer to that, so he's just going to keep reassuring people that this was a mistake, a one-off, a faulty ferry and keep on healing, the blood flowing freely now because it's coming to fast for him to wipe away and besides, his sleeve is drenched anyway. Blood smeared all over his face and his back is on fire and his hands are numb, magic bleeding out with every breath until suddenly-

Quentin keels over.]

[Find him anywhere, healing people. Ask for help? For directions? Hit me up and we can work something out.]