The low, constant wailing off the dreary coast breathed a somber silence between the waiting pair. Their fledging sallies of conversation died on their tongues as the waves rose and fell and warred against the shore; the falling tide receded.
At a last, listless chance, Serge gesticulated, almost lifting his finger through his general malaise, toward a passing bird. A lone seagull gliding through the winter air, one grey spot moving through a grey sky, gave a sharp call before the swelling fog consumed it.
A nod was all this afforded, but both found any further intercourse was beyond them.
Tale Told 