“Back the sails,” Winter said to Isidor as Soule cried out, going to the rail and looking for him, Isidor running, grabbing lines, spilling their wind.
They were finally dead in the water, Isidor getting the glass, pointing it back the way they had come, looking at their wake, a great deal of water between where Kell had gone in and where they were now.
“Port side,” Winter said, pointing, Isidor joining him, Soule on his heels.
Kell was in the water, appearing to be fine, just his shoulders and head, dark braids that didn’t even appear wet. Seeing him, Soule sang something out and in a flash it was in their minds, a whole complex sense of a person, Kell’s face, a series of fast images, completely unique, a sense of someone. Kell grinned at her, looking delighted, obviously the man’s nam
