The only sane option would be to give the monster as much space as it deserves. To watch in awe as it breaks through the water, as it makes world-swamping waves with the shrug of its shoulders, as it creates an absolute shipwreck zone that requires no malice to destroy. A forever memory, a holy mark on the cheek, the kiss of the untouchable divine. To navigate the absolute shipwreck zone is impossible.

It is the prerogative of a knight to dare the impossible, when it is given to her.

The [i]Starsong[/i] does not have a wheel. Not with the yellowfolk on board. She has a web of ropes, cables, levers, not to send signals for miles but to allow for control from a central hub. This has been the work of the entire voyage, the work of construction and knotting, improvement for the sake of improvement, for the sake of a moment like this.

The knight stands in the middle of it all, the Ancient Craftsman riding on her shoulders like a grandfather, and she knows she’s done this before. This is why she wears gloves which don’t slip on the handles. The [i]Starsong[/i] hasn’t fallen through Poseidon’s song, but she has. Which means she’s the only one who can do this. And she’s grinning as she steers the [i]Starsong[/i] along the length of an impossible wave, into the absolute shipwreck zone.

She can worry about what they’re going to [i]do[/i] later. Right now, she exists in the moment, in the strain of pulling a line taut, in the knowing of sails like wings and fins, in another ship she has learned to love through earnest service, and in the laughter spilling out of her lips. When the waves fall, the spray is stained with rainbows. And yet, the [i]Starsong[/i] impossibly breaches the surface again, and she continues where no ship has survived before.

Eventually, she will find the wave the ship cannot survive. But in her heart, there is no such wave.