Preoccupation with the storm was indeed the order of the day. Men ran too and fro trying to tie everything down, to bail out of the worst of the waves as they cut through the swells tossing them about. One of the seamen started to cry about it being some kind of omen, some ill fortune that had been brought about, and Washington nearly spat. Why did it always have to be some kind of ridiculous superstition with these sorts?

Ah. But one of them HAD noticed Tucker out there on the waves. There! Devilfish! They've brought the storm upon us to feast on our bones once we're dead! And as attention turned briefly to Tucker, eyes not otherwise glued to their task, the man reached for a harpoon.

That was a step too far. If there was a man out there, he certainly hadn't brought the storm upon them, and he reached to grasp the man's wrist. "Have you lost your mind?!" he demanded, as lightning split the darkness overhead.