“• But these weren’t clouds. These were sails. Four beautiful white sails tied to the upper yardarms of a brigantine. I rushed to my window to get a better view of its golden honey stain and light blue trim. At the front, a figurehead of two wolves bounded toward the shore beside a half-naked, Greek huntress. Her bow by her side as she reached for an arrow from her quiver, further exposing her breast.”
Book:Death Island