The path eventually turns into a mass of St. John’s wort, ivy and blackberry. The path ends in a sandy cliffside overlooking the sea. The waves are so loud you can feel them, a loud rhythmic thrumming deep inside your chest. The waves hit the rocks with such force you’re afraid they’ll take the cliffside with them. You can’t bear to look away. Red veins of seaweed undulate with the sea. Little brown heads bob in and out of the waves, the driftwood bodies of their companions on the shore in the last patch of sun, unbothered by the sprinkling of the rain and waves. They must have found something good as they get more animated in the sea. You can hear them snarling, even above the waves. The image of their blood stained mouths... finally you find yourself able to turn away.
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