Synecdoche by Guy Yasko

They follow the wolf’s tracks over the dune, past the point’s wind-bent tree. In the fog, the forest’s edge is a wall which hides something larger, some unseen threat. The trees themselves are haunted by mist threading between their branches. And beyond the fog, beneath the waters, lurking in the kelp, under the cover of surf’s roar? Who put the sticks in the sand? “Let’s go.” says the girl as she takes her brother’s hand.

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