The Two Shores, page 9 of 12

Pip stands with his back to us in the thin foam at the water's edge, the small curled shell on the sand behind him and one pale mark far out on the sea, still and easy.

The foam came up to his feet and left again, twice, like something keeping in practice.

He stood in it without measuring anything.

Out past everything, a paleness rose, and sank, and was gone before the word for it came.

© 2026 A.J.Sharpe