Port Soif

She tilted her head back, breathing deeply. It was a stone grey day, the sea a bleak slate broken up by whitecaps, the sky pleated with thick ripples of cloud. A hard wind filled the sails, carrying the little boat over the waves.
'It feels good to be this kind of cold', she murmured, 'Wind in your hair, sea spray on your skin. The cold of the living'.

Leigh Bardugo