Into the tender boat eight bodies crowded, all with water to the ankles cold and filthy. Margaret, Corinne, Zoe and Sage; Michelle, Aloisa, Danae and Jacqueline. A fishing oar could not retrieve their ninth, nor could the packed tender boat accommodate much more. It took full strength to preserve the oar against the current's pull, and clear it of the next incoming wave. Wood splintered, the tender boat's burrowed stern ripped clear of the Charlotte and into the mercy of the waves.<br/><br/>Corinne's dancing lights spread out beneath the surface, and into swirling grit of the ruptured ballast. There may well have been bodies beneath, shrouded by impenetrable dust, but ripples of dense water through colorful lights revealed the tremendous energy at work in the undertow, breaking against the Charlotte and sweeping swift beneath. Yvonne must have gone under with it. If by some change she emerged on the other side, no humble means of oar could hope to tame those waves and navigate to her.<br/><br/><div class="spoiler_container"><div class="spoiler_header" onclick="hideSecond (this);" role="button">Danae's perception</div><div class="spoiler_body">A night like this favored elvish eyes. Without guiding lights to accompany Danae's keen senses, the bodies thrown overboard were as good as lost. But if any yet lived, a light aboard the tender boat would provide a beacon for them in this chaos. It was a small hope, but a hope nonetheless. </div></div><br/><br/>A wind-piled wave cleaved with the little boat into floating debris. Bits of charred and broken ship pelted before the snag of shredded sail stopped short the tender boat's momentum, spun it round and threatened to tip. Bitter grey water spilled in. Only by an exhausting slog of the oars did the tender boat tear free, and escape into the current.<br/><br/>At the mercy of the storm's zephyr, the eight were borne aloft on heaping water, leaping, thrashing in a contest between the toss of the water and the hammering wind. In between, bodies were worn down. Zoe pant wide-eyed into the stark night. Shakily Sage worked to massage feeling back into her numbed fingers and toes. The spray of sea, frothing at arm's reach, drove Michelle into a huddle. Margaret offered a feeble prayer to the angry sky.<br/><br/>Gradually the tender boat bobbed clear of the wreck. The oars would steer, now, if only by strong arms able to steady them against the current. There was no sign of the first boat, of Garsenda, Delphine, Emma and Jeanne; of Eloise, Hannah, and Genevieve.<br/><br/><em>Markovia is north. </em>Those were Delphine's parting words.