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CHOPTANK BLUES & Other Stories
Pain, phantom pain shot through me like liquid silver, thick and warm, penetrating. I muttered fuck this and gave a vicious yank on the tiller to bring the sloop into the wind.
I screamed, “NOW!” as I released the sheet to slide roughly across my calloused palm. Fricky responded, slowly. I had counted on that—we needed all the time my Lady could give me.
Jon nodded and braced himself, hand-over-hand hoisting the heavy sail as Fricky bucked and pulled, fighting me, fighting the waves, her bow rising onto a swell, weightless flight, then smashing into the gravity well with singular hate.