I've been reading Cambellian fiction advice...
...and it's out-of-context fiction time
Standing at the back of the skiff, Eida was not aware that she was testing the wind and hearing the water. Rather, her eyes were on the fleet pursuing them, her mind on her embarassment before the rest of the crew, who, in their expertise and vigour, had sprung to the sails. When she "agreed" to this, she did not entirely grasp that their trip would be this frought with risk.
Absent-mindedly she put a hand into the pocket of her meleiba and turned over the smooth lump of tiger's eye that she'd picked up while walking alongside the kidu river on her way to the bridge. Unthinking still, she put her hand over her shoulder and lightly tossed it into the ocean as she would have tossed any old stone into the rushing waters closer to home.
She had forgotten about her "knack" for hearing the wind and water: when the rock hit the undulating surface, ripples spread out, but instead of diminishing with distance, the ripplies asked for, joined with, borrowed a bit of, the wave's energy and grew with each passing span.
Eida realized that when this ripple hit the skiff, it could be buoyed forward violently, or capped up on a wave and tossed back thrice as hard; but if the waves bowed, if they cooperated, if the ripples grew until they hit fleet, their tail would know damn well that this would not be as easy chase.
Perhaps I should say something, she thought.