The sky was grey. The air was grey too. Rain lashed about them, thrown by the wind. Waves reared over the canoe, splashing down so he had to use his cupped hands to bail frantically to stop the canoe from sinking, then dig the paddle into the sea to manoeuvre them around the next wave, and the next.
The waves weren’t Wild Wind high. They weren’t even Big Storm high. But they were higher than a shallow canoe; higher than a frightened boy could cope with.
But there was no choice. And I am not a boy, he reminded himself. This morning I was a hunter. I fought the sow! I can fight the storm now.
The afternoon was swallowed by the night.
Time vanished. The world vanished too. There were only the waves, the wind, the rain. He had no idea how he kept the canoe afloat. He only knew that he had.
So far.