Finch once signed me onto a fishing boat for three days of hard work and “deck rate” pay. At the time it felt like a one-off job: cutting bait, hauling traps, trying not to lose my breakfast over the rail while Ray watched to see if I was worth the space on his deck. I thought I was just learning how to stand steady on a moving boat and coil rope the way Finch liked it.
This journal entry is me looking back at that trip from the far side of the portal, realizing how much of Skelderheim’s Dock Ward feels like that workboat all over again. The weight of a line in your hands, the way a crew judges you by how you move, and how a coil of good rope can buy trust in any harbor, even one that doesn’t exist on our maps.
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