The water thrashes under my oars.

The sharp air grazes my heaving lungs.

The sun sinks lower.

I hear them grow closer.

Their haggard breathing.

Their unified chanting.

Their hurried steps.

I see them along the river bank.

My pulse quickens.

My arms burn from hours of rowing.

My back protests in pain.

They have closed the distance.

They are close enough to attempt an attack.

I must keep moving.

Look ahead.

Look forward.

Grit your teeth through the pain.

Though the skin on my hands wears away,

I must keep rowing.

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