That storm was of greater importance than any song on the breeze. The men on the ship were working to sturdy the ship against the oncoming gale, and Washington was right there with them. He'd ditched the longcoat he'd brought with him, the heat of the tropics too thick to bear the thick weight of wool, and he'd rolled up his sleeves and joined the crew in pulling on a particularly stubborn coil of rope.

There was a strange vibration in the air, however. Something that tickled the skin, apart from the growing taste of ozone on the back of his tongue. He turned his attention towards those dark, billowing clouds as they grew closer and closer.

No matter. They'd endured storms before. This time would be no different.

Winding the rope and tying it off, Wash moved to the edge of the ship, leaning forward to catch his breath. It was then he noticed what could have been the shape of a man, dark skin readily noticeable against the pale rock jutting out of the ocean, and Wash found himself squinting slightly.

Was he...seeing things?