The challenging sun flung a flaming sword from east to west across the trembling water. The sailor gazed out at the orb on the horizon, and considered himself blessed to be alive. Just the previous day, the very ship he stood on had been at the very brink of disaster.

The storm had come on them, as slow as death itself. They had known it would come, for they had seen the clouds on the horizon days before it struck. The sailor had been faced with a tough choice, for if they were to stay at sea, their stock of food and water would have run dry, and they risked dying of thirst. If they rode into the storm, they would make it to the next port, but risked being smashed to bits on the rocky shore. After a lengthy discussion, he and his crew both agreed that a quick death would surely beat out the slow burn of dehydration on the open sea.

They rode into the storm, the sea throbbing like the heart of some strange beast. The sailor, knowing that if they lost the ship their careers would be ruined, had convinced his sailors to tie themselves to the railing to stay aboard. So they stayed on their ship, experiencing each wave their ship conquered as if they were the craft itself. They felt every drop of the deluge that poured from the sky, and reeled with their vessel as every wave knocked them wildly about. Their ship was nothing more than a toy in the bathtub of the gods. Then, abruptly, the rain stopped. The sailor’s ship continued to ride the waves as they slowly subsided. They had made it through the storm.

The sailor and his crew had not lost one man, as they had shouldered the burden with their ship.

Their makeshift covenant had allowed them to survive.

The sailor untied himself and his crew, and without a word, continued to sail on.