Jack landed hard on the deck. He lay still, momentarily stunned by the impact.
A wave of nausea hit him, as he tried to regain the use of his lungs. It was slow going.
He heard her approach. Deliberate steps. Light on her feet, never mind the occasional pitching of the ship.
He flipped onto his back, the better to breath, and her face now entered his field of vision. She shielded him from the sun and, though it probably wasn’t intentional, Jack was grateful.
She stood looking down at him for a beat. Then she whipped out her sword. It whistled through the air, hovering just above Jack’s thin, cotton shirt.
“Better look where you’re going next time, Jackaroo,” she said in a low voice. “Think it’s time to cry defeat?”
Jack rose up slightly on his forearms, forcing her to retract her sword. “Not so long as I have breath in my body, Izabel.”
Izabel snorted. “You barely have breath in your body.”
“It’s a figure of speech! And here’s another – you may have won this battle, but the war is far from over.”
“Just so,” she replied. She tossed her sword in the air and the two of them watched as it spun hilt over tip above Jack’s prone body. Once, twice, thrice it turned, Izabel’s hand catching it on its descent. She sheathed it smartly, then flashed him a bright smile. “What say you to dinner?”
Jack leaned back with a groan, his hand resting gingerly on his stomach.
Izabel’s smile faltered. “Are you alright?”
Izabel dropped down next to him. “You don’t seem quite alright.”
“That’s probably because I’m not.”
“Let’s see if I can’t make you feel better.” Izabel said.
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