Without warning, the Fisherman stopped his hunt and turned to her. He spoke, his words as gutting as she imagined the knife would be. “In the bogs of Maine, surrounding these island shores and outward, life is driven by death and madness. Despite these horrors, there stands one thing. A trace of hope withstands the environment that destroys all else. The orchid Arethusa grows in the devastation and even flourishes in these impenetrable swamps. It is a piece of lasting dignity where no other can be found.”
