Aurlocke

Pull the strings from the grasp of bars. Stare into black of many fathoms; Watch with eyes of silver grey, Find through storm the golden way. Amongst the curling hands of foam, Against the ship that it caresses; Hold firm against the tempest force, Through guiding light you find your course. --- The breaking dawn was of no comfort and respite to those caught in the breaking waves, cresting and frothing with a wild furore against the sides of a small cargo vessel, nestled between rocks jagged as teeth. The light of the new morning was barely even a sliver of grey in the black vacuous storm clouds that blotted out the sky, and the way out, like ink spilt over a map. That uncertainty was matched only by the shouts of men toing and froing with a frightened energy to try and stop their ship from touching the biting teeth of the shoreline, lest they all get swallowed. It seemed to be that the ship was stuck within the grasp of the coast, having drifted too far into a field of