![]() ![]() Juana swung around the mast to squint into the blue horizon, toward the thing that tugged on the boat like a net. It came to her that the boat wanted to go to Hispaniola as much as she did, but it couldn’t, something dragged it back. Swearing, Juana held onto the mast, the rough wood sun-warm against her hands. ![]() She pointed it away from the Mainland again and the boat spun out of the gust, splintered wood creaking and shredded sails flapping, blown back to the north as ungracefully as a discarded plastic bag. And you’d think witches would be born knowing how to sail boats on the wind toward the Caribbean but no, apparently not, and that was…that was bullshit, was what it was. You’d think flying would be the hard part, but no, it was steering. ![]() She had found the broken sailboat in the south wind and tried to pilot it to Hispaniola, but it wouldn’t go in the right direction. ![]()
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