Today’s wordage: 5,600
Today’s writing time: 3 hours, 15 minutes
Total wordage: 39,000
Total writing time: 25 hours, 15 minutes
Late that night Kitchens went on deck to see the ocean by night and re-visit his fear. A storm moved upon the English channel, pushing a cooler wind ahead of it, though stars still showed as he peered at the closer sky from beneath the curve of the gasbag.
Kitchens had not been a praying man, ever. His childhood had not admitted of God, only of the need for the next meal and to not have one’s head broken by the peelers. Still, now, riding on the necks of a condemned crew in search of a man already lost to savages and monsters, he felt the need for heavenly aid. If only such a thing could be called down by simple words spoken into the long, dark night of faith.
“Keep us safe,” he whispered to the wind. “And bring me home.”
There was no answer but another gust of wind. That was sufficient for his troubled heart.
He went below to sleep, his fear outstared for the moment. Tomorrow there would be difficult — angry men, and a voyage no one wished to undertake. Least of all him.