The trawler rocked gently as cold winds buffeted it from the east. Though a passenger craft by trade, its rooms were instead filled with provisions crates of aid sent from the mainland to provide what meagre support they could for the residents of the ancient 'Isle. Aside from the small crew, the forlorn trawler carried only three passengers: two of whom stood out on deck, huddled together for warmth, lost in their own bleak thoughts.
Though he was without sight, Aaron stared out into the distance, out into the impenetrable dark that marked the boundaries of his world.
"A storm is coming."
Beside him, Lena stirred. "What makes you say that?"
"You can't feel it?"