Dawn broke.
The sun had yet to fully rise; only at the very end of the distant sea horizon could one glimpse a sliver of the thinnest golden radiance, dyeing the clouds that had lain silent all night into clusters of brilliant blossoms.
A medium-sized merchant ship was drifting leisurely on the sea, its hull rising and falling with the swells.
"It's already more than two hours past the appointed time, isn't it? Why is there still no movement?"
The Boatswain, a dark-skinned middle-aged man, stood on the deck gazing toward the silhouette of the island looming faintly in the morning mist, his expression slightly worried.
By contrast, the stout, broad-shouldered captain beside him, with his grizzled full beard, was clearly much calmer.
As if he had already gone through countless similar situations, he held a smoking pipe in one hand, casually pressed down the brimless cap on his head, and remained composed.
