The Loveblind Bird chases the little skiff with sails cracking, bow high, hydrofoils slicing the sea.
“A ship that size shouldn’t be this far out!” says Ratio Tile.
“Well, he won’t be around long enough to tell anyone about us,” says Dog Shouting. “Dragalong, man the bolter.”
See Me rummages through a casket for a set of brass oculars. “Maybe he was being towed by a bigger ship, snapped his line…”
“Gimme those,” says Dog, grabbing the lenses and peering. “We can still catch him before he gets to–there, that small waystation!”
“That’s no waystation,” murmurs Ratio. “That’s the moon.”