The ship shifted with another swell, leaning toward him, then away. Each tilt threatened to swing him wide into open air. His boots slipped once, the rope burning his hands as he slid a foot down before catching himself again. His heart hammered against his ribs. “Almost there,” he whispered to himself, though the storm swallowed his voice.
He focused on the rail above, just a few more pulls away. His arms trembled, the rope slick and biting into his palms, but he gritted his teeth and kept climbing. Finally, with one last surge of strength, Elias threw an arm over the railing. He hauled himself up, boots scraping, and tumbled onto the deck in a breathless heap. The storm raged on around him, but he had made it.