Apr 7, 2020

5 min read

Magic Hands of Old

The grey Atlantic battered the jagged coast as heavy fog rolled in from the islands ahead. The warrior tightened his scarf around his shoulders as he strained to catch a glimpse of the incoming boat. His watchtower served little shelter from the icy rain being thrown at him like arrows in the wind. A storm was coming. One like they had never seen before. The nearby sheep chewed the grass unfazed.