On the open sea, sunlight flashed on the waves, and each silver sparkle seemed to reflect just a trace of blue, from the star.

In the low part between waves, the water looked different from the water on the bright crests. One could almost forget that it was the same water, just a darker color. When Hugh splashed the water with his hands, he could remember that it was yet truly clear, like water everywhere.

Small floating branches were lifted by each wave and lowered, hardly moved by each wave, just rising and falling to some invisible floating thing that traveled through both the water and themselves.

The sailboat traveled quickly over the sea, as Hugh gazed at the swan. The swan hardly seemed to notice him except as just another wave on a sea that began where the watery ocean left off.

As Hugh hummed a song, the swan listened to him as though he were nothing more than another breeze on the ship's bright white sail.

"Hugh," said the boy, as if he had been expected to introduce himself. The bird turned to look at him, and he was not startled to hear the boy speak again, "Hugh." Somehow, the swan seemed familiar with the boy and the name, the way a tree is familiar with its own mountainside.

Written across the top of the bow, beneath the swan, was the word, "Hansa." It was the name of the ship, and Hugh decided to call the bird by the same name, "Hansa."

From the other side of the bird, shone the blue star. And the wind softly sang the boy's name, "Huuuuu," but now it sounded clearer as they sailed through a blue world of nothing but sea and sky and star.