Teeth chattering, fingers stiff, skin pale. The freezing water is taking its toll, but the shoreline is in sight. They’ll be safe soon enough.
The long length of rope tied around his waist is chafing at his skin, and the saltwater stings at the raw flesh. He’ll have marks there for days, perhaps even weeks. Maybe he’ll even be left with pale scars to remind him of the fickle nature of the sea. Serene one moment, brutal the next. He’d lost his fishing boat, but he thanked his lucky stars for the emergency dinghy.
He looks over his shoulder at the little lifeboat now. It sags beneath Kobi’s weight, but Kobi doesn’t care. He’s dry. Safe. Saving his strength. His tongue lolls lazily from his mouth and releases a steady drip, drip, drip of drool.
Trust me, thinks the fisherman, to have the only Newfoundland in the world that is terrified of water.
He turns his attention back to the shoreline and continues dragging his dog to safety.