Albatross

He leans back, supported only really by the mast behind him.

His curly hair nearly grinding into the grain of the wood; an attempt to shore up knees, buckling and weak.

There's no respite in sleep. No escape from the deafening stillness of catastrophe -

the air in these doldrums is choking with holistic hypohidrosis.

A half-sigh and a guttural heave as he smashes his head against the beam in a half-formed prayer,

"Oh, Aslan..."