8.4 Racing Against Time


When the weather changed, it was fast and furious. The blessed rain fell in torrents. I drank my fill again and again even as I scrambled to keep the Wet Hen from capsizing. I could neither think nor write, so desperate was my race against the buffeting wind. I couldn't say how far or how long she sailed before the storm blew itself out.

When it did, I was exhausted. My water casks were full, yet I'd eaten every scrap of food before the storm blew in. I feared might not live to see dry land again.

And then, the joy!  The relief! An island off the port bow!

But that is a story for another time. Here I examine the scrap of a map that I hope will buy my freedom.

Footsteps approach! I will hide you now, DD. I cannot risk their knowing what is in my heart.