Upon the winedark sea. The salt sea, the cold sea, the sinking sea, and far from home and the strangeness of Aeetes. My eyes are dazzled with the sun brightness, the newness, the open horizon. The wool is soft on my hands; an honour indeed! She laughs beside me, my sister, and reaches over my shoulder to tousle the golden curls. Men say we are the same, same our dark hair, same our sloping eyes, beautiful and cunning, though she is wise and I am not. Certain, yes, that this ship rolls beneath our feet the same.

I am looking backward behind us at the lands I cannot see where I was born. The garbage of the ship floats past, and I am delighted at the seagulls that are diving for our scraps. Black sails! They are small on the horizon, a dark seabird, a floating house, a harbinger. A shout in my voice. She rushes to the rails, my sister, the bright foreigner behind her. My heart beats faster. Black sails fill my eyes. Wide sails. An indrawn breath: upon the winedark sea. The cold sea, the salt sea, bitter, bitter, the sinking sea. O, my sister, o, Medea…