Cyrus stood, as if listening, just beyond the reach of the tide. He did not seem to have heard me approach. I waited as the sun cleared the horizon.
Cyrus turned to look at me. His eyes were focused on something I could not see. He said, “I hear him calling. Every night. Ever since that bad night in the bayou. He’s out there, under waves. Sleeping. But some day he’s going to wake up. And then I’ll have to go.”