Spliiisssh, splaaasssh, spliiisssh, splaaasssh... The sound of a wooden vessel being hit to and fro by endless waves filled the atmosphere, along with the groans of floating Tortuvina high above.
For Barnacle, these sounds are like oxygen to her lungs. She almost lives for this feeling of being at sea. She leans on the gunwale, taking in the crisp air and feeling the salty spray on her face. Feeling her airways contract from the coldness, she pressed a paw to her chest.
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