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210 pages, Kindle Edition
First published August 4, 2010

"Long, slow strokes, easy as sunlight, never relinquishing the embrace."
"Flynn found full reach inside him and began to ride him hard. Tom knew that he had within himself a compact, sturdy strength, diminished a little by the way he had been living but still there to call upon."
"Flynn's hand tightened hard on him, and he burst to a pleasure so bright that it put out the sun."






It was still like being caught in an avalanche, a bloody cosmic washing machine, tumbling them limb over limb into a coughing, spitting heap in the shale.
Or the alluring…
Wind song, lifting from the south as the sun touched the water. The soft slap of waves on a harbour wall or hull. And always, like bright silver stitches in the tapestry, seagull cries, lifting up the sky from the earth, creating wild free space for thought to take flight.
Or the partnership…
And if he had to be shot blindly into the dark, who better to trust with the task than Vic? Shell-shocked nutcase he might be, but centuries of wrestling the ocean ran in his blood.
Balled up, clutching blindly at the dog’s scruff with one hand, he wept, unable to believe the depth, the age, of the wounds gaping wide in him.For him the solitude of the West Country is necessary, more than home it is a refuge. How Flynn knocks him off his feet and drags him out of his self-imposed exile is not a happy tale, but one that makes you smile nonetheless. It makes you believe that even from dark and desolate places life can spring forth, reincarnate and flourish.