Indeed, their
very placidness was almost cold, animal in its indifference. Upon
closer inspection an abnormality of the hands and feet could be seen.
The fingers were long, bony and webbed, like the sea-creatures they
were, the feet slightly longer and similarly arrayed.
But in the face of all contradictory evidence, Sylviana clung with
sudden conviction to the belief (perhaps unfounded) that inside them
remained some spark of humanity, and a soul that might somehow be
wakened.
But who would wake it? They had tarried here in their winter home long
enough, and must soon return to the seal rich waters of the North.
Perhaps they would return again in autumn; perhaps they would move
on. Though she could not have known this, Sylviana hung her head in
unknown harmony.
*
At last as the day wore thin, they reached a tenable stretch of beach,
and in the failing light safely landed the water-soaked craft. The
smallish waves could not overturn its heavy bulk, which now served them.
They dragged it as far ashore as they could, which wasn't far, and
lit a fire to replace the sunken sun. There in the lee of a group of
rocks they huddled together and slept in the sand, unable yet to think
of tomorrow.
They slept, and dreamed, in sorrow.
Chapter 37
The next day brought unexpected hope.
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