As they sailed, he fell asleep. A squall came down on the lake, so that the boat was being swamped, and they were in great danger.
I saw the boat coming and I rejoiced. Not that I am a cruel wind, but I am a violent one. I rip through houses and send boats and cattle scurrying away from me, into the shelter of the land or bothy. I whip up the sand in the desert so that it rises into the air in great clouds and darkens the world below for days at a time. I am stronger than the fishermen who fear me, stronger than the waves that I beat out of the sea. I am stronger even than the morning sun whose warmth is chilled by my strength and speed.
But I was not stronger than that man, who slept in his boat as if there was nothing wrong, as if I had no power to move him. His companions shouted and gibbered, but he lay there like a child, a child in a crib, sound asleep, and all my whistling and roaring seemed to disturb him no more than the rocking of a mother's hand.
He was a small man, I remember. But heavier than he looked.
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