The salt spray of the Peaceful Ocean stung Michaela Khoarn’s cheeks. She leant into the wind and prayed that her eyes weren’t playing tricks.
An island peeked between the swells, alone in the expanse. Right where the islanders (reluctantly) told her it would be.
A big rolling wave pushed Michaela’s boat up on its side, the outrigger dug into the water. She flew off deck.
The ocean came up to meet her so hard that she lost a lung full of air on contact.
The roar of the ocean snuffed into silence when she went under. She pulled upward with cupped hands. Strong and lean and no stranger to the water, she swam easily back to the boat.
From the top of the next wave she saw the island again.
That had to be it.
Had to be.