Beric knew he had three minutes to stop the bleeding before the orca got to him. His father had told him he was a fool for fishing in the North Sea and now he would prove him right. Adventure always claims the foolhardy & stubborn, his father said. But that fucker wasn’t out on a piece of driftwood bleeding from his spleen. So, as far as Beric was concerned, the comments didn’t matter.

The dark waters were slack around a gently bobbing Beric. A gull screeched in the distance. Grey clouds covered the sun and any hope of warmth. Leaving a young man to sweat from fear as he held his side and peered into the water for absolution.