The Sanctuary of Subtleties
Flailing around, sharply jerking from one side to the next like a headless Pegasus, The Cork-Hawk was clearly not as it ought. Coming into port, with a over-full cargo of pork had never been so fraught. Up on the poop deck Captain Debt loomed out of the bright room, and into the gloom. The boat had to make safe anchor, if the skilled banker could keep it afloat.
Captain Seb, with his fork, had fled, toward Sark. He stalled, he had to call, he had to shout before the fall, he came about, the waves receded, it was the chance he needed.
On the dock, amongst the cod, was a slight light, never yet awed, odd. In that pure sanctuary was a sight to see, to lure, through the fog. Indeed, in flight, attempted but fought (in deed, dour), the Cap’n could not see, for it was, YES, it was she – the headless Pegasus.
Today I wrote between 23:29 and 23:39. I was prompted by an idea here.
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