Cove. Cynan Jones
breathe because his whole body hurt. As if he had suffered a massive fall.
He blinked and struggled to raise himself a little more, the kayak shifting below him. The world slipping, rocking.
He felt the briefest flicker in his right arm, a wave of something, and it spasmed, smashed unfeelingly against the inside of the boat and went dead again, fell now against his side, a fish flicking after suffocating. The other arm still stood out in front of him as if waiting to receive something. The tingling remained, like the pain when you crack your knee.
There was a ringing in his ears, a high, insecty whine. He felt drunk. His head pumped full with something. He let the light in bit by bit, as if sipping it with his eye, raised his head and saw the water. For a moment he thought he was in some way blind; but then he understood: there was just the water, there was nothing else to see.
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