Seaside Moors Stare at empty chairs.

She's a mom? He asks, more amused than surprised, because Raleska hadn't struck him as the motherly type, or at least, the type he was used to seeing back in Brooks Range. But everyone up there was rounded and frayed like bitten nails. Raleska was a significantly savage stiletto. 

Wet dirt gives under his weight as he guides the gray doctor at an unbothered pace. Last place I saw her it was a beach a bit north from here. 

But funny, I haven't seen her kids around.