breathes out. She drives slowly, uncertainly, now. Around here, cars have to pull into passing places and jagged rocks stick out from cliff faces into the single-track roads. The dog watches out the window like a co-pilot. At the beach, the tide is out and the black seaweed clings to the sand like another layer of sea. Crows fly low over the water and then disappear into the cloud. Over on the island, the cottage windows are brightly lit. It seems strange to imagine anyone else nearby. The dog doesn’t run after the sticks like she normally would. The girl and the dog walk over the peninsula towards the castle, just another wall of grey blending into the dark sky. Every so often, the girl bends to pick up smooth stones. They are white, beige, sometimes pink. When she was young, she and her siblings would have competitions
back at the loch to see who was the best at skimming stones. Her parents would sit and watch to make sure their children didn’t go too near the edge of the pier. The girl grabs onto the heather and pulls herself up the steep slope, getting her knees muddy. Ancient steps are buried under the long grass, barely footholds anymore. By the castle entrance, she stops and closes her eyes. The air is salty and wet. The water churns many metres below. The dog breathes heavily. The laughter of her parents and siblings surrounds her. She can see them running into their favourite hiding places behind crumbling rocks, or pretending to cook in the fireplace, or making up stories of the kings and queens who lived and died in these rooms, now no more than walls and weeds. She does not cry. Their absence has become almost normal. Instead, she hums a tune to herself as she sits on a rock by the entrance, tall and rounded like a sentinel who got left behind in history. She unwraps the sandwiches and holds one out to the dog, who swallows it gratefully. Back on the beach, they wander out to the shoreline. Coils and swirls give away
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where the sand worms are hiding. Anemones wriggle their ruby red fringes from one pool to the next. Mussels lie discarded, emptied of sticky delicacies. On the rocks, burnished orange lichen blossoms like small explosions. And there, a monument to time passed, stands the boathouse, weathered smooth and grey like the shells scattered at its base. The girl vaguely thinks about driving back to the city. Here, it seems like no world exists beyond the dark sea, the forests, and the fog that hides them. Her hands twitch nervously as she thinks about the motorways and the overpasses. Again she thinks of metal on metal, breaking glass, one cry. She reaches out to pat the dog and stroke her soft ears. The dog stares up at her with sad eyes. She looks towards the castle, almost invisible behind the layers of mist. Together, the girl and the dog walk back across the sand, now nothing more than blurred outlines against the darkening sky.