The wet waters gushed and flowed like the Ravin’ River back home. Home? Was it home? In some sense it would always be home even though Hem had not been there for nigh on two decades now. It was just the way life went sometimes, and Hem had not many regrets on the situation.

He wiped his brow of the wetness and pulled his hood down over his face best he could. The rain that poured down upon the Big Ocean was ferocious. He had heard tales of the Rains down here (in the South ‘o Things) but it was another thing to see it for hisself. There weren’t much in the way of Rains back in Gilba Gilba, back in the Outlands. Rain, sure, but Rains, hooooooooooooo boy no sir. Nothin’ like this.

“AYE!!” he shouted across the small vessel to Breema, who was busy tetherin’ the lines or some such sailor action. Pullin’ the lines or tackin’ the tacks across dockside.

Breema didn’t hear him. No chance of it with the Roarin’ Rains in all their ears. They had another night’s worth of sailin’ before they arrived at the East Passage of the Northbound Treaty Contract. The Whites above them had long blown away and Hem (well Breema in fact), hoped that the occurrence of the Rains would be sufficient enough reason for them to show up without any Colors. It had happened before, she said, though she seemed uncertain. Depended on who was workin’ the Boundaries apparently.

A terrific gust knocked Hem overboard. It happened too quickly for the reader to catch on to the fact that this scene was goin’ word by word. He splashed in and made a sound no louder than the standard blast o’ thunder that cracked the sky like a Garm’xi’n on the Hunt! Result was Breema could not have known Hem had fallen into the Big Ocean.

Hem gasped when he surfaced, more from the heat than the shock of the fall. The Big Ocean was HOT, remember? HEATED WATERS of the BIG OCEAN! It churled and churned and frothed and BOILED! Steam steamin’ and shootin’ around. Hem acted quickly. He forced himself through the bubblin’ waters and latched onto one of the danglin’ ropes of their vessel before it was too late. The rope was soaked and heavy but he handled it like a lifeline which IT WAS indeed INDEED. The very definition of lifeline dear readers!

With a roar, Hem hauled himself up, hand over hand, up the rope. Harder than it seemed on account of the wetness of it all. It was sharp and thorned for some reason. Defensive reasons, Breema would explain later after they had dried off. His hands burned with the climb. Hand over hand. One hand at a time. This was nothing. It was difficult but so was everything. Heave out of the waters and climb soppin’ wet onto the deck of the vessel!

Hem collapsed, breathless and destroyed. He was soaked and burned and his skin red from the hotness of the waters below him. Breema was on him in moments. She had not seen him fly overboard but she DID notice his absence. The incident was a blur. Hem spit out the water and lay there in his wetness.