When the sun’s set, she takes the unraveled thread, snips it into lengths, and throws each length into the receding tide. Stars shine, and the moon. A dark shape slips along bright waves and dives. One by one, the seeker gathers the strands and ties them about her wrist so tight her fingers pale and stiffen. She makes a fist, tenses. Her skin splits beneath the cord and closes over it again. Red, who’s waited motionless on the shore since sundown, sees something like a seal against the waves of light, and wonders.
