The Third Breath, page 3 of 12

Under the water Pip stands among low ridges of sand beside one tall strand of weed, the folded leaf worn upside down over his head, tiny and full of wonder.

Two breaths. The pool’s floor had country on it: hills the size of his hand, a forest of one weed.

He came up talking and was still talking at dusk.

Dawn listened with her chin on the sand.

© 2026 A.J.Sharpe