Knott squatted in the muddy field, finding meagre shelter there beneath the rattling leaves of a storm-split twist of tree, a stone’s throw from the road and, glancing up and down its silent length, he felt pretty sorry for himself in his sodden clothes. He figured he would stay a while, see if the rain … Continue reading “…let him come hither.”
From the beach.
Shingle drag beneath shallow wave pages. The lapstrake swings heavily towards him and if it were any rougher, waist-deep in the swell, Knott would surely be pulled beneath it. Sam, flapping his arms, wades from the beach into the surf. Ffooks, bow in both hands, says, get in, get in. Knott pulls himself up over … Continue reading From the beach.