Tribal-style black sleeve on arm and shoulder

The sleepers in the hold of the Tern woke up hungry this morning, which means we are close to the Glass Reef, and I am writing this with the ship's lamp swinging over the page, so forgive the smudges. Mother's old navigation book says the reef is marked by spirals, the way water turns when it meets stone, and the tattooing women in Halden Bay used to ink those same spirals down the arms of anyone who had crossed the Long Dark twice. I have crossed it once. Tomorrow we cross again.

Last month, at the chandlery, the inker Sefa set her needle to the design and told me the thick black bands run like reef lines, so the sea can read where you have been. She drew the triangles as sails shortened by wind, and each swirl as a current you have outlasted. I asked her whether it was a map or a prayer. She said she had never known the difference out here.

Here is what I need you to do. If the Tern does not come back by the turn of the season, take the brass compass from the box under my bunk and walk the shoreline to the third tide-pool. Stand where the largest spiral points. Tell Mara the lines were correct.

Yours in salt and ink, Anika