I wrap myself in a blanket and lean up against a wall. The boat sways on the water. My stomach churns. Several times I crawl to the tiny toilet to be sick. Every time it was hard to wrestle myself away from the bowl, the motions of the sea more vigorous in there. I sip water to steady my stomach and wash back the bitter taste of my own bile.
I don’t see Taler or Ash. I assume one of them must be piloting the ship, though I have no idea. Someone sticks their head in to put a large sack by the doorway. I open my mouth to speak, but they’re gone before I get the chance. I’m left alone.
There are high, narrow windows that look out. I tried peering through one to see the ocean, but the waves sloshing overhead make me heave. Instead I stare at the clouds that pass by above and imagine how peaceful it must be out there.
The boat comes to a stop. I can feel it rocking back and forth as it tries to stabilise. I grip the blankets around myself and breathe through my nose, head tilted back, trying not to be sick again. Through the windows above I can see the hull of another boat. I wonder if they expect me to transfer over. It would make sense, to limit my time in any one space. I sit up, orchid gripped between my hands.
People board the boat. I can hear them talking. I don’t think this was part of the plan.
Footsteps descend the steps to the hold.
I rush across the room to the containers, orchid under my arm. As I pull the flap open, I can hear the heavy sliding door lock being dragged open. My breath is held so tight it’s hurting my insides. I try to squeeze myself into the tiny space, knees crunched up to my chest.
It’s only when I’ve tucked my skirts in and closed the flap that I realise I’ve taken the orchid in there with me.
It’s too late.
The door opens, and someone enters the hold.
a place of words 
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