“Mister Bush!”

The wind beckoned him with exasperated breathe for the sixth time, with certainty that his fear had wafted in the direction of this sea demon.

“William!”

His christened named ushered to consciousness, and to the baptism of punishment.

“Yes?”

The voice cracked like glass under the pressure of fists.

“Why couldn’t you? Why couldn’t you kill him as I told you?”

Gentle rain glided down his cheeks while he imagine salt water kisses that brooding jaw line that slid between the drizzle and the hurricane.

“Sir, I-”

He had bellowed and bullied for this man, beckoning violence against his gentle nature; but his ability to march or murder had surrendered as his blue eyes viewed terror in those brown ones that commandeered his own sight.

“William?”

The iron armor had been shed, revealing the tender flesh as the word was spoken.

“I--I don’t know sir.”

The pale brow furrowed, but the face did not frown.“Mister Bush, I don’t know where to begin, but--”

The tangent about obedience commenced, but ears did not hear when eyes did see the signs of oblivion.

“Aye aye, sir.”

The answer was automatic, but circumstance had changed.

“Now, get some rest William. For my sake.”

Had those word drenched his ears? Had the man not drown in the storms of war, for had he been rescued by it? Yet, would he discover peace in ascension?

“Aye aye, sir.”

William would have to observe before any conclusions for Horatio burned deeply--but would he release only occasional smoke? Did he fear the arising phoenix, for it would resurrect all that lay off the shore of Jamaica; but there was treasure waiting to be discovered within his grasp.

He could hope. Hope could sustain him. For now.