*An unfinished novella that may, or may not, end up being rolled into a similarly unfinished serial novella entitled: "Gust".*

## Prologue

### James

A rocky outcropping can be heard above the clash and clamor of the ocean's currents. James, dazed and weary from this last sleepless night, is jolted to attention at the distant cry.

"Castaway!" He echoes against the rock's wailing and the sea's incessant shout.

"Castaway! Port Side!"

The ship responds by veering in the direction of James' still outstretched arm. Glancing upward, he locks eyes with their captain, a grisled man of forty-some years. Still cutting the vessel to port, the captain yells for the men to drop anchor over their aft side. Strong wind had brought them here, and would carry them past if allowed.

"Brace!" Yelled the captain as an afterthought, the crew did not welcome this oversight.

Having decided that even the anchors thrown behind may not be enough to hold them against the speed they had gathered, their captain draws the boat tangentially against the near shore of the small island. As their hull digs gently into the sun-stained sand, the crew scatters.

Just as he gathers himself up from the deck of the ship, James spots movement at the treeline, and out walks a boy aged no more than sixteen.

### Sinbad

The commotion from beyond the treeline is deafening. The seas had quieted themselves as the sun dropped, and the natural sounds of the island have since drowned in the banter of the men on the beach.

Sitting around their fire, they argue and laugh one after the other. It seems as though they have forgotten their argument just as another of them has told a joke.

"A disgusting waste, to drink for pleasure and not from need." Sinbad curses aloud.

Though the men had extended an invitation for him to eat and drink with them, he did not much care for their company. After taking the food he was offered, and much of what little water the ship carried, Sinbad had retreated deeper into the island. He only came back toward the shore to make peace with his decision to leave the island as part of their crew.

## Chapter Number Undetermined I

### Sinbad

As he stood alone, Sinbad felt the wind as it raced through his hair, a peaceful feeling, despite it causing his loose clothing to billow and throw volumes of salt into his mouth and eyes -- though they were closed.

*"Sinbad!"* Lucy called out.

Sinbad did not hear her, or simply chose not to, as he was much more interested in what he was doing; something which was both idiotic *and* dangerous.

Sinbad had decided to take a new approach to sailing.

You see -- where Sinbad is from, there is less so a concept of *Man and Vessel* -- and more so a concept of *Sailing*. This distinction is left rather unclear to Lucy and the remainder of the crew, and yet, what has been made abundantly clear is that Sinbad intends to learn to sail the same way as those whom he grew up sailing with.

Unbeknownst to Lucy, this could be a risky endeavor, for both captain and crew, however, Sinbad found it to be necessary. If he were to continue to improve as a captain, it would require taking risks.

*"Sinbad!"* Lucy called out again.
She shouted something else but this time Sinbad truly didn't hear it.

The ability to read his ship was the defining feature of any captain within Sinbad's caliber. Sinbad's connection to his vessel was so keen that his ability to control it had become second nature. Navigating the waters required not a second of thought. The trouble with such a connection, however, was that the lines between his mind and the ship's would -- not infrequently -- blur.

Sinbad wondered what it was Lucy could be so upset about. They were making great time. By his estimates, he had already shortened their travel by a day and a half, meaning that their journey could be reduced by as much as a fortnight if they were to keep their pace for its duration.

*"Sinbad, a whale!"* Lucy's shrieked. Her final, desperate plea for Sinbad's attention managed to snap him back into reality.

*"Shit."* He cursed under his breath.

*"This is not good,"* he thought to himself. Leaping down from his perch on the mast - the one holding their mainsail - Sinbad began to hatch a plan.

Sinbad landed on the deck hard enough to split the boards beneath him.

*"All hands on deck!"* He shouted, unbothered by the fall he just survived.

## Chapter Number Undetermined II

### Sinbad
*"Sinbad!"* A woman’s voice calls out.

Sinbad’s eyes finally snap open. He finds himself on the floor of a tavern. It seems like a vaguely familiar place.

*"Where am I?"* Sinbad wonders aloud.

*"Sinbad. You are an idiot."* Lucy answers back.

Lucy has been standing over him hollering his name for the last fifteen minutes, and is understandably upset that he does not seem concerned about his prolonged nap on the floor of Ali's Tavern.

Still confused, Sinbad sits up to look around. Dark, rough hewn boards make up the floor and walls of this strange place, and while there are many people bustling about, they seem more interested in getting the bar-keep - who also seems vaguely familiar - to fill their glasses, than they are in finding out why Sinbad is lying on the floor.

*"Right. But where are we, again?"* Sinbad has not quite puzzled out that he is still in the tavern. The only tavern he has ever been in. The tavern where he has been nearly every day for the entirety of winter.

*"We are in Ali’s Tavern, Sinbad. Are you feeling alright? You..."* Lucy doesn’t have the chance to finish her thought.

*"Right-o. Let’s get back to it."* Sinbad says with more charisma than should be possible for someone who has spent the last fifteen minutes knocked out cold on the floor.

Hopping up from his resting position on the floor-boards and onto his feet in one graceful motion, Sinbad heads out the door, whistling a happy tune. Lucy sighs audibly, but follows him out nonetheless.