Tracato

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“I DON’T LIKE THE LOOK OF THIS,” said Sasha, leaning on the Maiden’s railing. Behind them, she could see three ships, triangular foresails billowing, masts rolling in the swell. “How far away, do you think?”

“Five leagues,” said Errollyn. “They’re no faster than us, I doubt they’ll catch us.”

Sasha turned to look across the deck, the wind whipping at her short hair, tossing the tri-braid across her cheek. Huge canvas sheets thudded and strained against their ropes as sailors ran on the deck, or crouched, and kept a wary eye to their knots and loops lest something abruptly break. Waves rolled across their path. The Maiden surged as the swell lifted behind, white foam spraying as her bow rushed through the water. Then slowed, riding high atop the wave, mast tilting back to the left as she slid down the rear side, losing half her speed.

Port side, Sasha reminded herself. Port was left, starboard right. It was her seventh day at sea, and she’d not been as sick as she’d feared, despite the weather. Half a year in Petrodor and much experience fishing, rowing and sailing on small boats had granted her enough sea legs that she wasn’t green and hanging over the side, like some others she could name.

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