Richard’s gaze sweeps the horizon. No sail breaks the monotony of blue sea and sky. The morning is calm after the squally winds of the night, a good day for a sea crossing. Yet fear squirms deep in his gut, a great worm stretching. The pools left by the outgoing tide glitter with reflected sky and he dare not look into them. It is her face he is afraid to see, the judgement, the eyes hard as stones. Her face will tell him more surely than any wreckage, any washed up timber and broken spars that there will be no sail on the horizon.

Continue reading at Jane Dougherty Writes