At sea, Monday

Duke was making great time on the OceaNyx. The wind was strong, the water a bit choppy but not alarmingly so, and the sun was shining. Duke sat at the stern, watching the sail and the whispy clouds behind it, breathing in the salt air for the umpteenth time.

It was exhilarating. Liberating.

Kind of . . . melancholy.

He missed his partners.

( Ye olde yelling at the sea trope )

[establishy, NFB due to distance.]