As the waves lapped against the planks, Will cursed himself for his carelessness. Everybody had warned him against trying to sail out in his own and he had ignored them.

It only took one storm to throw him off course and away from visible land. He floundered for a few hours attempting to regain control of the vessel before he gave up, sinking into despair as he lay on the deck and basked in the uninterrupted sun. Not a single cloud graced the blindingly blue sky.

Hours turned into days. Days to weeks. He manned the helm and kept a straight course as well as he could tell, but his experience in wayfinding was lacking greatly. The air became colder as he sailed northward and farther from the ancient American coast. Nearly a month had passed and he forgot how long he had been on the ocean.

Chunks of ice passed by Will’s boat as he shivered against the fierce cold, huddling against himself in a vain attempt to stay warm. Every wave caused thousands of tiny ice particles to pelt against his exposed skin and his lips bled from the frigid air. He had no thought except the release from his icy prison and perhaps a hot meal. Every time he looked over the bow of the ship, however, he saw nothing but a white expanse of water and ice.

Suddenly, he was thrown to the decking as the ship foundered in some unknown beach. He had been dozing, as he was wont in his freezing starvation, and by the time he woke, he was surrounded by figures of men and women speaking in a strange tongue.

He slowly came to the realization that he was in a warm building and wearing furs. A fire crackled nearby.

Was this paradise?