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There had been no wind for a week, and nerves were fraying. The crew’s constant, discordant whistling alone made Oluwande feel half-mad.
But he could swear a smudge had appeared above the horizon on that first windless morning, where the colors were somehow brighter. A clean streak on a grimy window highlighting how gray and dim everything else appeared.
He thought the smudge was shrinking, imagined a torn seam being mended by some great hand.
He trusted just one person to asses his sanity, and they were gone. On another ship, maybe in a sea he could no longer reach.