Off the coast of Kosia, Borean Sea
Ibn Ali stood on the deck of his dhow. A dhow is a small boat propelled by the wind pushing against a sail and guided by a controllable rudder. With the wind against his dark skin and the salty smell of the sea filling his nostrils, he felt free and in control. He sailed alone, to the chagrin of his mother.
He preferred the long silences of the sea. He enjoyed watching the angelfish project out of the water like popcorn jumping from an open pot. He enjoyed the peace of the sea. Farther out, the sea was more busy. Heavy cargo ships sailed through the deep waters further away sending cargo to and from the busy ports of the Borea-Itur waterway.
While he was on his boat, not too far from his hometown, he was satisfied and free. He lay down and looked at the stars. The wind suddenly picked up. He decided to open the sail and turn the rudder and go back to the land. The sea gradually got more violent. The waves rose and fell with sharp intensity.
He stood up and yelled gleefully. He enjoyed these jests that the sea played with him. He skillfully maneuvred the dhow over and around the waves, using the wind to go forward. Large clouds formed in the sky. They were black and heavy. They began to pour and pour, sending heavy pelting drops onto him. The sea got too great. He slipped on the wet floor and fell down.
His dhow flipped over and fell into the water. He struggled against the mighty sea, but his strength left him and fear struck him. He lost consciousness. He could hear the sound of men calling out. He felt strong arms drag him across a wet hard floor. He felt a hard pounding on his chest. Sea water crept up his throat and out of his mouth, leaving him with a burning sensation.
In his exhausted state, all he could do was catch the name of one of the sailors, Sabira, before losing consciousness.