The storm continued, with no sign of dimming; heck, it was growing more spiteful with each moment.
Waves rose higher, crashing against with great force, checking to see where the boat's weak points were, yet it had not found any. The wind howled across their faces, continuing to tear the ropes and cloaks, and salting the wood of the deck as if it were steak.
Looking at the dark sky, you almost got disappointed, how much you have endured until now, and all you could see was darkness, and without a sign of it stopping, even a little.
Lightning flashes right in front of him, reminding him just how small they were.
Yet, he didn't pay it any attention; he remained at the center of it.
"Rotate," he said, watching the strain on the crew hauling the bow ropes. "Don't burn yourselves out. Fresh hands every count of twenty."
Yet gazed at him nodding before obeying his command, and for a good reason, he had been the reason they had survived this far.
