Abigail observed Billy’s work intently, holding in her lap a small coil of extra rope from which to practice matching his motions, and perfecting the knots he was showing her. In truth she could not say how long they had been at it now, though she did know the sun was much higher, and a great deal hotter than when they had started.
The terror that had sparked this little lesson was wholly forgotten by now, and likely would remain so provided she wasn’t in close proximity to the men who had seen fit to scare her for sport. Something told her they meant nothing malicious by it – rather like school boys delighting in mischief and screams, but never meaning to actually hurt anyone.
Perhaps if she were a little less trusting of their leader, and had a less sound friend in Billy, she might not have been so easily convinced of such a thought, let alone thinking it without prompting. As it was, her alarm had fallen away, and she was thoroughly engrossed in her lessons. Her hands worked over the rough rope, and though she had not been at it very long, they were red and sore from her efforts all the same – chafed in ways they were far from used to. She had some callouses from working in the kitchens, but not nearly enough to protect her from rope burn.
“I think I missed – something,” She admitted, showing her knot in comparison to his to try and figure out on her own where she’d gone wrong, “Here?” She guessed, pointing to where she’d doubled when she should have run it over a third time.
Ocean Archive 