Joseph sailed across The Range just as he had done as a child. Freely. With no restriction. Like he had done before the army had sectioned and separated the sea, before they had created boxes in his mind. He felt the storm mewling at first before it strengthened around him. Its intensity palpable. He felt it seep into his consciousness. His fear growing. It didn’t matter how many years he’d been at sea, it was instinct. The noise of the water as it raged shot fear through the hardest of men. The winds were cross-cutting the water angrily, without order or pattern, knocking Joseph repeatedly off his feet. Then, a flare. He looked up to see a blinding red light above him. A swooshing past. Another. Warnings. He knew then that they had seen him. He began to sicken to his stomach, his back knocking against the stern, the foamy spray on his front. He scanned the horizon, waiting for the military boat to come into view.

Emrys’s mind had been occupied as they sailed from the bay. Time had stood still for him as he moved backwards in his mind to all those years when he had been at one with a boat. Her invisible course. He had remembered the thrill of riding a wave, of carving a path that no one else could see, of being a part of something so much bigger. He felt all this as the waves grew up around them, and he and Hamza sailed at the edge of the squall. Then, as they entered the storm proper, the waves butted and broke, becoming more violent. The movement of the boat knocking him from his feet. His attempts at getting up becoming fewer and fewer. His adrenaline dropped, his resolve weakened. He was soaked through, his fragile strength almost spent.