“What the hell happened! How could there be no trace whatsoever of man nor boat!”
Both sensed that this place – his destination – was the rightful place to pose such questions. The earth here was receptive. The island had no answers, but in its innocence understood the reason for the questioning. The wind – who’s own brother may well have blown and capsized Deacon’s boat – only whispered here, using the pines as translators.
“Let’s choose some stones, okay? And take 'em back to the others?”
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