Soon, echoes began to shush their footsteps and salty humidity began to coat their tongues. The ground became slippery. Orlaith emerged first beneath an outcropping sharp as canine teeth, set into the side of a plunging cliff. The rock met the sea in a short band of pebbles and pink sand.
Seagulls and small crabs fled from her and Fagin as they lumbered and grunted their way from the snug tunnel with the dead weight between them. Blowing for breath, they lowered the corpse to the beach.
Epona’s in a fine mood today, Orlaith observed. She was right—the waves spit ill-tempered foam wherever they met the shore.
She’s angry. Fagin sucked in his lip and scratched at his tangled beard.
–Elyan White, “Lost and Found”