The fighting now was ended. She would never come back. Hands stuffed in his jean pockets, the toes of his Chucks tickled by the waxing tide, he watched the pegasi clouds chased towards the dawn by the plough wind furrowing into his jacket collar. The quiet chill hanging on the serpentine reeds besides the shoreline path caught flickers of vermillion from the horizon like the torches of a distant mob storming the corner of his eye. It had been a dreadful night, but he’d persevered. He sighed, turning for the path when his eyes met hers, turning him to stone.