Sinbad had sworn he would never return to Syracuse ever since Marina's arrival had forced his disappearance in the middle of the night. He had sworn it to himself, to Kale, to each one of his crew members as they signed up.
But it wasn't the fear of returning, or even elation, that kept him at the helm long after he had grown exhausted. That whitened his knuckles and drove splinters of wood into his fingers from the polished wood.
It was the way that Spike whined that made his stomach twist in a way no hurricane ever had.
The big yellow dog paced back and forth at the prow of the Chimera, lifting his nose to the headwind and the bank of mist that stretched in front of them, letting loose a low, panicking whine.
An hour later, he could smell the smoke that mingled with the overwhelming sea mist.
Holy F guys, we made it to twenty! High fives and cake all around!