Dawn broke over the beach like a slow bruise healing. The grey light turned gold, then white. The waves crashed. Crash. Hiss. Crash. The rhythm was constant. But beneath it, Elian heard something else.
Click. Click. Click.
Not one cane. Many.
He stood on the sand. The tide was low. The debris line was thick. Plastic bottles. Bags. Fragments of unrecognizable things. Colors that didn't belong in nature. Neon blue. Bright red. Black. They lay among the shells and kelp like wounds.
Elian gripped his cane. The ash wood hummed. It recognized the others.
They emerged from the mist. Three figures.
From the North, an old woman. Her skin was dark like fertile soil. Her hair was white like snow. She leaned on a cane of birch. Pale. Peeling.
From the West, a young man. Tall. Lean. His skin was
