Their cries are white noise. Sail the Gormwoods – Evacuation, Leave Now.
We cut through traffic the wrong way, pushing through to the shoreline.
We want to see them first.
A pregnant wave lifts them upwards, this ship of giants. Two behemoths reach for the crow’s nest, bellowing like cattle.
“Eight,” she laughs out against the wind.
“Nine,” I say, but not to her.
Massive arms reach out from below the crusted waves.
We stay and watch too long.
The Gormwoods steer their ship against the rocks. A hundred thousand wooden knives fall into the sea.
We wait patiently for them.
City. River. Tree. 