a blazing sun. the ship is like a furnace, its brass fittings too hot to touch, the blistering heat making the air shimmer over the decks.
piss is dripping on the deck. the sailors do not seem to care. the cook takes a chicken from a cage. he breaks its neck, and starts plucking it. the others continue their bitter conversation.
close up on an hour-glass, nearly through its time.
most of the men are now back on board.
standing at the prow of the ship, his long dark hair floating in the wind, utapan rejoicing at the speed.