The ship

The first thing that registered was the smell-damp wood, stale sweat, and something metallic that clung to the back of my throat. My head throbbed, a dull, persistent ache centered right behind my eyes. When I tried to move, a wave of nausea washed over me, and the world tilted on its axis. I wasn't in my bed. I wasn't even on solid ground. A gentle, rhythmic swaying motion confirmed it; I was on a ship.