By Alex Glebe
She divined the crows near the river, rising and falling in a pattern of black notes against a parchment-coloured sky. Death by drowning.
A stranger startled her, destroying their dark music. He passed her, laughed, and remarked about the coming storm and the ship due to harbour that night.
She fled shoreward. The disappearing sun was the lighthouse light extinguished. A broken crab shell was the wrecked vessel; a scattering of pebbles the perished passengers. That night, sleepless and distracted, she saddled her pony to warn the ship. When the river enveloped her, she recognised the stranger by the kelpie’s laughter.
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