The seagulls are calling as you row.



Moonchild’s face is wet.
There’s not a spot on you that isn’t wet.
Your muscles burn, but it’s a happy burn, because she told you to row, and that’s what you’re doing.
“It’s just so heavy!” she repeats. “I didn’t want to have to do that, you know?”

Nod but say nothing.
Comfort her.




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