TWENTY-SEVEN
Sativa gasped as the freezing water engulfed her, her last breath before the sea closed over her head. She kicked off the side of the ship, heading for the wavering light at what she thought was the surface. She burst into cold air and wished she hadn't, as the breeze turned out to be colder than the water.
Dusk had fallen, but there was enough light to see the darkness that was the shore. Praying that no one aboard the ship saw her, she set out for land.
Her hose and boots drank seawater like a drowning man, weighing her down. Determined not to drown when she was so close to her destination, Sativa stripped off the offending items. Only modesty made her keep her tunic. That and the camouflage it offered her pale skin as the moon rose.
An eternity passed, as she stroked
