Six fish were lifting a mast beneath Ty's feet. Their exposed ribs held the net open, and the water rose in folds between them while Ruvet sang. Through those moving folds, Ty could see the mother's empty pool against the harbor wall. Her yellow floats had made six places for the fish to come home.
The cradle had left the ramp behind. Ty's boots pointed toward what had been his ceiling, and the mill workers looked sideways from here, bent over their hauling bar. He kept his left shoulder against its binding and pressed his right palm flat on the seat. The mast turned below him. Ruvet lowered his note, drawing the fish against the current until the flooded platform shifted clear of the cabin's service ledge.
