“Circling the Spindle, Day 225
Two vessels failing this morn, at port Spokes. I may’ve sighted others of the fleet overnight, but can’t say for sure. The fog has moved.
More mutiny below, but the lieutenants keep it in check. At worst, we need only hands to turn paddles, steer the rudder, patch leaks.
I made clear this truth at voyage outset: achieving The Spindle is a calling for the committed. Nothing excuses second thoughts.
The fleet may be winnowed to only four command vessels. Perhaps a dozen smaller craft for transfer between. Wind patterns worsen.
No time for pep talk, nor discipline. The insubordinate should throw themselves overboard. If they lack the will for it, we’ll provide the service.
Only those dedicated to shoring on The Spindle, no matter the cost, shall be given preference when there remains a single scrap of flotsam to cling to.
But one deck to stand on: The Unerring, at the nearest starboard Spoke. My current ship has herself run aground of a Spoke, reef rending the hull.
In the lull between storm fronts, we’ll make the crossing, myself and my first officer. He has agreed to man the steerage while I navigate.
To circle the Spindle is a faith, perhaps lifelong. A trust that in the surprise of one moment, you’ll find the hidden current and be tided into your destiny.”
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