“Goddess be praised, he’s alive,” a strange man’s voice declared as strong hands fished Edward out of the churning surf.

Edward hung limp as his body was dragged up the beach. The feeling of being on solid ground was strange. He had been airborne, shaken by a storm like a maraca in the fist of a mad dancer. After his plane ditched in the ocean and he swam free of the cabin, he had bobbed for hours like a cork tossed by crashing waves. A world that was suddenly not in constant motion in all three dimensions was now as jarring as it was pleasant. Read more…