Cyprus shoved Shay to move. The other boy gave the pirate his best cheeky grin, and Halse spooned out a dribble of thin, greenish stew for him along with some misshapen bits of meat.
Day 28: Foreign Market
“Lonan, be reasonable, boy,” Neils extended a placating hand toward him, as if to divert a rockslide. “We’ve all taken a blow today. There’s no use in taking another. I’ve done some sailing in my day, and no ship of Serafina’s could catch a ship like that captain’s.”
Writer Confessions 9
Reading is good for you. It's good for learning empathy and it's good for honing your writing skills. Find time to read during the day the same way you find time to write: a paragraph at a time, in between tasks, in pieces and sometimes in the sly.
Day 26: Leaving Poetry
Beyond the great blue expanse, the coast of Avalon sat like a circlet atop the waves. It was so far away already Cyprus couldn’t make out any buildings, only the greenish ups and downs of hills. “There she goes,” Kaz said cheerfully, noting the change in Cyprus’s expression.
Day 25: Rats Belowdecks
A goat screamed above. The smell of blood and urine rolled down the stairs. Cyprus and Shay clung to the net and each other, shaking.
Day 21: Town Witches
Just then the windchimes banged together and Lonan appeared with a gull feather tucked behind his ear. He broke in between the three of them, hoisting Meredy and Merle up like cats by the scruff.
Day 20: Driftwood Boys
Xan turned and watched him until he misstepped, overturning the driftwood and tripping into the sand. “If that’s what you want,” he said.
Day 19: Blessed Fire
As Xan ducked away to unstick the candle, Lonan heard a creak from the old table. He bit his cheek. He was sure the Acolytes saw past the space Xan had occupied to the child in the house. With their hoods raised against the cold, Lonan couldn’t tell where they were looking.
Day 18: Swordswoman’s Son
In the pale wash of the cracked window, his clipped hair shone almost white. He’d changed since he and Lonan had been bathed together and scolded together—he was built like a swordswoman’s son now. His mother’s spitting image.
Day 17: Witch’s Jig
The flutist stood at the railing of the ship, playing a cheery jig over it all. The song died when Lonan skidded to the water’s edge. He looked Lonan up and down.