As the stars wheeled overhead, changing their formations as the Heart traveled farther south, Jerzy grew accustomed to the delicate sway of the deck under him, the sharp slap of the salt air, and the constant noise of the great white birds circling overhead. He was no longer ill, even when they ran into rough seas, and there was no panic when they were out of sight of land, the way they were right now. He looked down at the rope he was coiling, down to his bare toes, as sun-browned as the rest of his exposed skin. He looked like a sailor; he was even starting to feel like one. The fact that he hated it, every minute they were under sail, mattered not at all. Jerzy looked up again as one of the gray-and-white seafishers swung overhead, its harsh call falling into the open sky. Why had man not developed wings, rather than sails? On the other hand, Ao, currently hanging overhead in the rigging, shouting something down to Mahl at the wheel, was clearly having a wonderful time. Jerzy couldn’t find it in himself to be ill tempered; there was too little joy in the days, now, to begrudge any laughter.
