July 28, 1580
The sea was calm, too calm. The sky was clear, but there was a chill in the air. We were approaching a storm, I could feel it in my bones.
I was having even more trouble sleeping. I couldn’t shake the feeling that something bad was about to happen, to the Thisbe, to the crew.
“Rowan?” Weyln asked, interrupting my train of thought. I pulled my eyes away from the sea, and turned to look at him. “What’s wrong?”
“Oh, it's nothing. I was just lost in thought.” I said, not wanting to scare him. He was adjusting well to life aboard the ship, but inside was still the scared boy I had met the first day we arrived. It would be better for him to be ignorant for what's about to come.
I had hoped that I was wrong, but in my heart I knew all too well how harsh the sea could be.
July 29, 1580
With the new day, came clouds, and harsh winds. The sky was gray, and gloomy. And the sea was especially rough that evening.