Three Tides, page 4 of 12

Dawn's head rests on the flat still water while Pip crouches over a leaf at the edge and marks it, absorbed and greedy for every word.

She talked about the sea for once: where the currents folded, and what the cold was like when it was safe.

There were rests in her talking now, the length of a wave, where no rests had been. Once her eyes closed in the middle of one.

He wrote it on a leaf, delighted, and did not ask why now.

© 2026 A.J.Sharpe