His nerves were getting the better of him.
Still straddling the tiller, he eyed the boom, main halyard line and mainsail and mentally began to prepare for what he needed to do next while the sloop sat idly with its bow towards the wind. The small waves of the port sloshed lazily against the ship, the sound calm and rhythmic and the total opposite of the Biqaj’s thoughts and ruminations. He watched as the sail waved and sputtered pathetically before drooping, still and slack and not at all what a ship needed a sail to be. He’d need to turn away from the wind to reach the east-running river and that would mean the sail would fill once more, A full sail meant speed which would mean less time to react; he’d need to get himself together and have his wits about him.
Deciding what he would do, he shuffled slightly left to edge the tiller in that direction - which would ease the ship in the opposite direction - and took hold of the halyard line, winding it once more around the cleat to add more angle to the boom in anticipation of catching more wind. The ship moved and the sail caught in a series of fickle and audible snaps which caused the Biqaj to grimace once more. It was not a sound he was unused to but here, alone and lacking much in confidence within himself, it lacked the exuberant and lively feel that such a sound instilled in him in the past. Instead, it felt foreboding and ominous - like an unwanted threat.
The wind inevitably caught - and hard - and he felt the boat groan as it veered in a semi-circle towards the east yet again but this time, and with the help of the line being secured on the cleat, the sail and boom held firm, allowing him to turn at least half his attention back to the tiller, relying on it now to steer his course as he piloted the ship towards the mouth of the river. But more angle meant more wind.
The situation changed rapidly just as the sloop turned to a point where it really caught the wind. Pyrre watched and felt the boom buck as the sail filled. Pinning the tiller between his legs, he took hold of the halyard line higher up from the cleat with one hand and pulled in a bid to add more slack to the line around the cleat. From there, he went to unwind the line from the cleat but the power behind the wind was greater than the power in his hands and unsteady body and the boom ran again the moment it had some leeway to do so.
The rope raced through his bare hands, both pulling him with it and searing his palms, and he released it immediately with a shrill curse bitten out through clenched teeth. He swayed uneasily and then took one stagger step forward with his good leg. His other caught; in a comical and nearly impossible fashion, the strap that held his peg secured to his thigh had snagged on the tiller and remained stuck and he twisted, legs all tangling like a newborn calf, before he dropped unceremoniously to the deck in a crumpled heap, a knee torquing awkwardly that sent another curse hissing past his clenched teeth.
The boom swang as the rope ran free, unravelling from the cleat and the Biqaj let loose another series of sharp curses, watching it all unfold like a slap in the face. He was helpless, hands red raw and left knee screaming from under him. He shifted, grimacing, and tried to unwind his tangled limbs yet the pain that shot through him as he pressed against the deck with his hands was white-hot. He ended up letting go of any shred of dignity he had left and flopped pathetically to his right so he could get himself unstuck, rolling when needed to eventually free himself of the tangle he had managed to get himself into.
Finally free of his mess of legs and tiller, he stood unsteadily, feeling even less confident on his foot as the boat rocked beneath him than before. But he needed to get the ship back under control.
Clenching his teeth, he felt the deck lurch beneath him as he took a small step towards the boom. The moment he stepped away, however, the tiller jerked in one direction, causing the ship to shudder and the Biqaj to drop to the deck once more with a loud curse.
Shooting a glare back towards the tiller, he realised he needed to secure it somehow while he sorted out the halyard line so he got himself to his knees and then inched himself towards the companionway before finally pushing it open. He staggered uncomfortably down the ladder, hissing each time he touched anything, and retrieved some extra rope before making his way back up to the deck. He felt the playful wind tease him as he emerged, pulling and blowing his hair across his face and he shoved it back instinctively, regretting it once he did as the pain shot through him from his hand at the hairs sticking to and running along the welts there.
More curses, more stumbling.
He reached the tiller and moved it to where he wanted it and then dropped the rope from his frame to the deck. He managed a quick bowline knot and looped it over the tiller, feeding it through until the knot rested around the vertical portion of the piece of equipment. From there, he heaved until it pulled tight despite the pain in his hands and then moved to secure it to an adjacent cleat with a cleat hitch knot. He felt the ship move more steadily now that he had adjusted the tiller and the course and was finally free to get after the wayward halyard line.
He staggered unconfidently towards the nearest starboard gunwale, pausing every few steps to get his balance until he reached the rail. From there, he used it to keep himself upright and steady as he followed it towards the boom and sail, ignoring the pain in his hands as he did so. He paused once he reached the boom and ran his left hand along it until he found the rope and took hold of it before retracing his steps with just one hand on the railing this time.
Finally reaching the helm once more, he slumped and settled into a sit upon the raised ledge - partly due to exhaustion and partly due to the fact that it made him more steady - and then leaned forward, using the motion to help him heave the boom and sail into a better position before he truly secured the line on a cleat with a proper knot. With an exhausted laugh, he uttered, “Thank vak,” and then slumped further into the helm area, draping an arm over the tiller.
At last, he was truly underway, sailing on a proper course towards the mouth of the river with the wind nearly at his back and the Shiver moving along at a steady clip. It was then he decided to loosen the rope he had around the tiller so he could manually pilot the ship, yet he kept the knot in case he would need it again in the future.
