Excerpt: Broken Ink.

Despite this being the first time Yori had ever seen the ocean, as far as I could tell, he just looked at it for a minute before proclaiming, “It’s big,” and went back to fashioning a fishing pole.

I pulled off my breeches, just keeping on my tunic as I waded out slowly. The icy chill made me squeak, but after a moment of digging with my feet, I brought up a clam, biting back a yelp when the sharp edges dug into my skin a little.

“What’s that?” Yori asked, his attention finally caught.

“Clam,” I called, tossing it back on the beach. “You pull open the shell and eat what’s inside. Keep an eye out for crab too.”

He tossed aside his makeshift pole and waded out, flinching. “I thought the ocean was supposed to make stones smooth!”

“These ones haven’t been in it long enough,” I explained, amused. “Here, you dig in toe first, like you’re shoveling. If you run into something hard, change your direction until you can bring it to the surface.”

His first two tries were rocks. The third try slipped off his foot before he could pick it off with his hands. He immediately scrabbled in the water for it, nearly falling over when the tide splashed into him. I grabbed onto him and pulled him upright.

“It was a clam that time!” he said, looking very cross. “It felt different!”

“I believe you,” I said encouragingly, trying not to giggle.

We gathered a few more clams and he waded out further, submersing himself completely to find and throw a crab back at the shore, cursing when it pinched him. I added a big-eye tuna to the growing pile, catching it with my bare hands. I could tell Yori was impressed at that, even if he didn’t say anything.

I made him peel off his shirt to use as a temporary bag to carry them in, once I’d smashed them with a rock to ensure they wouldn’t suffer. I pulled some seaweed off the ground and put that in too.

“We’re eating seaweed? It’s probably covered in germs.” He stuck his tongue out in disgust.

“So are fish,” I reminded him. “We’ll boil it, and I’ll mix it with the rest.”

“Do you make a habit of copying the recipes of every country you’re in?” he stopped in his tracks and stared at me. “Are you going to make me eat scorpion eggs?”

“You don’t have to eat it,” I said patiently. “But you’ll end up going hungry.”

“You have no heart.”

“Master Tusive didn’t like to eat weird things either,” I reminisced.

He rolled his eyes. “I don’t care. He’s dead, I never met him, and I never will.”

I ground my teeth together, wanting to yell. He’s had a tough morning. Take it easy.