"What do you mean we can't set sail?"
Gloria's mouth gaped open, her face etched with disbelief.
"Please, we've already asked sixteen ships this morning, and every one of them says they can't set sail. They keep saying we have to wait. What is happening?"
Nearly letting sentences like "Are all the ships menstruating today?" or "Are all men these days cowards?" slip, Gloria's face, full of resentment, nearly bumped against the big-bearded captain's nose.
"Even if you yell at me, it won't change anything! 'That thing' has been active lately. Numerous ships have already sunk, and the remaining folks are too afraid to risk going out to sea. You only get one life, after all!"
With a spit on the ground, the captain and sailors squatting on the pier looked towards the horizon with a mix of sadness and resentment.
For the Charlemagne people who earned their livelihoods at sea, there were three things they loathed and feared.
