Peter doesn’t even really know why he’s crying, in the end. He just knows that getting out in the water and being pummelled to within an inch of his life by the waves has left him weak; but for a moment, for a brief but shining moment, he stopped riding against the waves and rode with them instead, and he was king. He was alive. He was himself.
“You right, mate?”
“Yeah, just a bit. You know.” Peter sits up, and doesn’t even care that his face is red and blotchy or that he probably has snot on his nose and seaweed in his hair. He is a conqueror, weak as water and strong as the ocean. “Just a bit fucking marvellous, actually.”