They'd been out to sea for a very long time, so long, they no longer could hold on to where they had been, or what adventures had come their way. Years passed. They became like sieves. There was no land, for surely had there been land, they would be on shore by now.

They dreamed of homes, of lives with different names. They dreamed of lions, of ravens and owls. They dreamed they were children; they dreamed they were very old. And every time they awakened, they were still on the floorboards of the boat, watching the gulls, the shearwaters, the fishes and man-of-wars. They watched the spout of water shooting from the back of a whale twenty yards away, the fine spray catching sunlight. They watched the pelicans dive into the sea.