Chapter 9.
A Cry for Help

He swam the surface, calm and wide,
Still searching in the ocean’s soul.
But wandering far with morning’s tide,
He’d passed beyond his self-control.

He glanced behind—the shore was gone,
A distant thread against the blue.
The wind played freely, rushing on,
The waves around were drifting true.

“It’s time,” he thought, “I’ve swum too long,
I’d better start my way back in…”
But something in him felt so wrong—
He longed to see the sea-queen’s grin.

Then like a blade, it struck his thigh—
A spasm gripped him, sharp and tight.
His mind spun wild, “Am I to die?
Just hold on—fight this with your might!”

He drew his blade with trembling hand
And pierced the muscle till it bled.
A burning wave, too much to stand—
But slowly, tension there had fled.

The crimson thread curled through the wave,
Relief was bitter, pain was real.
He forced his nerves to act and save—
To master fear he had to feel.

He made himself half-smile and float—
A trick of will, his only aid.
Then spun around—his thoughts remote—
Some echo through his senses played…

And suddenly, a push—his back!
A touch that wasn’t his, but warm.
He turned, prepared for some attack—
But sensed no anger, saw no harm.

He dove, his heart caught in his chest,
To see just what had come so near—
And met a sight that stilled his breath:
The merman, proud and bold, was here.

He moved like silk in glowing light,
His tail swept wide, his eyes aglow.
His silence held no trace of spite—
Just calm that shimmered down below.

Then came a voice inside his mind:
“I need your help—don’t turn away.
This isn’t for my sake, you’ll find—
But hers. Come now, there’s no delay.”

At once he swam, the pain forgot,
His limbs still weak, his will pressed on.
The merman pointed to a spot—
A rocking boat, the tide rolled strong.

“Not for me,” the thought rang clear.
“You’ll save her life, not mine today.”
The painter’s soul lit up with fear:
“Dear God… don’t let her slip away!”