The Two Shores, page 12 of 12

The sea runs out below while Pip climbs the tiny worn steps with the shell held against him, small and steady, his back to the water.

Then the tide turned, the way tides do.

He carried the shell back up the forty-one steps, counting them, out of habit, and they were forty-one.

The sea went out behind him without turning around.

It was always going. Nothing about the going had ever been about him.

© 2026 A.J.Sharpe