The gulls are tossed paper in a storm, flashes of white in the grey, tumbling as

they struggle against the gale. Beneath them the sea rises as great mountains,
anger in the form of water, turbulent and unforgiving.
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It began as a whispering in the air. The day had been beautiful and the sky was like a dome of
plasma-blue. The clouds had looked like airy anvils drifting under the gleaming disc of sun.