think.

5: Beginning

"Poor boys with scars..."

With a thick rope in his grasp, he yanks, then releases. His feet begin to slide, making the crunching sound of grinding sand as he nears the edge. He regains his balance and stops just as small pieces of roof tumble off the side and into the inky abyss.

Tick tock, tick tock...

His vulnerability was at its highest at this moment, exposed to anything that could be lurking, he quickens pace. His lungs rapidly expand, then deflate, spewing hot air into the cool atmosphere. Steam swirls out his mouth and twirls above his head, dancing an exotic tango with it's lengthy tendrils. Suddenly, from behind the peak of the dark, patchy roof rises the head of a boat. A wood boat maid for sailing. Not sailing on water, but sailing on sky. His tension temporarily releases as he rises from his lowered stance.

"Ready?"

His dark hair flows behind his head from the rush of air produced by the rising ship. Slightly, the ship veers to the left and retaining his stance, he pulls the boat up to the edge of the roof with much strain. The sound of the ship hitting the structure relieved him.

"You... You're not fond on the thought of going are you? We must go you know, we were told to!"

With him rising and running to the boat, the masts suddenly expand, catching the strangely existent air within them. Nearly three feet the ship was away from the edge and still moving when he arrived. With a prance and callused feet leaving the surface, he tumbled in the ship, landing on his nearly skeletal shoulder.

"You are sure to bruise!"

Feeling the pull of the masts, he decided he must make a course and keep to it or lost he will become. Indefinitely. With a melancholy pace, he shuffles to the head mast, grabbing the metal handle, and his hand turning white from the sudden drop in temperature.

"Turn... Left... 90 degrees? Perhaps 45?"

He exhales and turns the handle 90 degrees and mentally sets his course to a far off place. A place he has not been in such a long time that seems only to be a distant memory. The beach. The jungle. The desert.

"Two days. Two days time of Awyr..."

The back of the ship sinks into the cloud of the darkness, his grey silhouette gone away with it. Gone.