Every straining second

They say when your loved ones are in danger, sometimes, not always, but sometimes you're able to tap into a strength you never knew you had. Hussuyd had never considered himself a weak man, but as his thick arms held one end of the boat above the jetty, he knew he was holding up more than he had ever held before.
The other end of the boat strained against the rope connecting it to the pillar, its float stone dull and lifeless sinking into the water beneath them, the whole thing like some perverse hammock. The loved one in question was his niece, knocked unconscious beneath the boat.
Hussuyd pushes his arms against his portly belly, his elbows digging painfully into his wooden bait box, as he hears shouts from the town. A Builder protects his people. A man protects his family so that they can teach him to be better in return.
His legs ache as sweat drips into his clothes, the heat from the swamp coming to hit him full strength now, the wind from the ocean gone in this moment, where every straining second means a second others can get close and pull her loose.
Everything aches and he shifts his feet, feeling the ship dip, watching the rope side down, dragging it forwards and forcing him to dig his blunt fingers into the wood, desperate with tears pooling at the corners of his eyes. Don’t do this. He’d rather be dragged into the water than let this boat crush this child, but he has no option for either, only success, only holding this wooden frame laden with goods in the air for as long as it takes.