Between the two arms of the fleet was a burning wreck. Prone as he was, he could not see well enough to recognise the ship. “Was it her?” he said, barely able to breathe. “It was not Tide Child,” said Cwell from by him. “Who then?” “I am sorry, Shipwife,” said Cwell, and at that moment he knew he could trust her, as he heard his coming pain echoed in her voice and there was no joy there. No gloat nor sneer. “It were the Bonebore, Shipwife.”
