Dolce’s whole body stiffened. His hands clutched the sheets until his knuckles turned whiter, and if his grip had slackened for a moment they would’ve flown to cover his mouth.

Hera!!!

You can’t just [i]say[/i] those things!

Or...maybe Hera could say those things. Hera was allowed to say those things, but, but, you couldn’t possibly expect him to [i]agree[/i] with you! Vasilia was sleeping right there! What if she was to hear?!

He followed her gaze out the window. Silently stargazing, as his thoughts hurried themselves back in order. His eyes flitted over the wreck, idly sizing it up. Incomplete, yes, it must have been enormous when it was whole. Comparable to their own, even. They had a decent view of the inside; the hull had been peeled back in great, jagged sheets. There’d have been no hope of sealing that damage. Not fast enough to matter. 

His nose wrinkled, and he bowed his head. Shut his eyes from the sight. As much as he’d learned, he never knew how to pray for the shipwrecked. Only that he couldn’t bear to be silent. Whatever had happened to the crew...there was no god or goddess who could step back in time and grant them a more merciful end. He’d still set out an offering for Poseidon, just in case there’d been any survivors. But it was too late for anything else.
 
If you wanted to help a shipwreck, you ought to pray while the ship’s still whole.

“There’s all sorts of ways for a ship to fall apart, isn’t there?” He wondered quietly.