From my newest historical fiction:

”Clutching the rail, she pulled off her cap and faced into a wind that carried her away from the island, not feeling the slightest need to look back. Instead, she imagined her old mane of long red hair fluttering out behind her like a triumphant flag. This was no nautical workhorse churning dutifully from harbour to harbour with an oat bag hung around its snout. Instead, the Prince of Wales raced for the world's edge with straining legs and screaming lungs."

— A Small Compass