Sil
jus one more fing
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- Aug 28, 2016
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He finished the painting, tucking away the small metal tin holding his watercolours back into his coat's pocket. Admiring his own work, he spent a moment before departing out of his port shack out onto the pier. There on, he stepped down into the boat, stringing the canvas and frame up onto his boat's mast via a small strand of string.
"There... That should do rather nicely, I'd say. Well, Bessie, what d'you think?"
He turns to the hull of his sailing vessel. It gives no reply, due to it being a boat.
"Hopefully, we get no trouble today. I'm in no good mood to be fixing holes in you, my dear."
Patting the boat affectionately, he peered out on the waters. Grey, misty, the slight smell of salt in the air, and likely a few fish to catch. He pulled the old, partially-rotting rifle from his back and began servicing it as he watched the rolling waves calmly move along.
Then, he began to hum a tune, occasionally singing the lyrics in a quiet, formal manner.
"...O I bid farewell to the Port and the Land, and I paddle away from brave England's white sand..."
"...to search for my long-ago forgotten friends, to search for the place I hear all sailors end..."
"...I'll search without sleeping til peace I can find..."
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