Salt spray stung Michaela Khoarn’s cheeks. She leaned into the wind, prayed that her eyes weren’t playing tricks. A lone island peeked between the swells. Right where the islanders had (reluctantly) told her it would be.
A blind wave hit the boat side-on. The outrigger slapped against the surface of the water, stopping the boat’s movement with a jerk, enough to throw Michaela from the deck. The ocean came up to meet her so hard that she lost a lung full of air on contact.
The ocean’s roar snuffed into silence. Michaela pulled hard against the water with cupped hands. Strong and lean, 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.
[Intro only. This piece is floating around the rejectosphere looking for a home. Check some of my other shorts though.]