The mouth of the river tumbles into the sea, even at low tide. A village of jagged rocks and apparent caves curves along the cliffs. The river cuts sharp banks into the beach that crumble under the weight of a foot, letting you go before they will let you stay. She watches from the bridge as another man tries to cross. The dog nudges her hand and whimpers a little. He would never hear her warning from this height, over the sound of the adjoining waters. And even if he did, he would never listen. His foot slips into the river quickly up to his knees, but he keeps his balance for a moment. It’s easier to see how to cross the river when you’re in the water. No rocks or driftwood to ground his steps, only sand. At that, he turns and takes a wide, solid step up onto the beach. He looks back across the river and stares at the cove a little longer than most, and then out at the sea.
In the last dark morning she hears a scream from the cove below. Always a quick scream. Both her and the dog, look out the dark window without getting up, listening for more.