Horizon Ridge you are free from the bonds that bound you

A muscle on the dark man's face jumps. Miranda tenses, if only out of habit. This stranger did not blink.

I'm in a pack that lives by the sea. Rusalka. He leans forward, supporting his elbows on the rock slope, his features shrewd and clandestine, as if precluding with this is between you and me. Hardy bunch. Warriors. Survivors.

Come by Rusalka's wrought-iron mailbox sometime. They've gone through so much shit, there's no klaxon siren loud enough in the world that will make any of them give up. Day by day, he finds himself caught up in their white knuckled devotions. 

You wouldn't look so much out of place, yourself. Windbitten, fleabitten, worldbitten. Just like him, just like the rest of them. The world, after all, was their whetstone.