Wheeling Gull Isle where the wind’s like a whetted knife

He paced the shore like a caged tiger. The storm across the harsh waters had pulled him here -- his eyes flashed with untested anger with each passing moment. Had it been a storm like this that had swept Donnelaith away? That had taken his sister's from him? He paused for a moment, staring in to the waters as be contemplated swimming tower it -- a watery grave that would suit him and his crimes well. Perhaps his spirit would even find Deirdre -- but it was unlikely. She was now in a far better place than he would be allowed to.

For a moment, the wind gripped him with teasing familiarity. Something in the beast stirred, and the Mayfair's muscles became taut with apprehension and longing. Aria, the wind whispered to him, as if the pale dove were near. But it was impossible -- he had left her upon the tallest mountain, with her friend and likely consort  Floki. He could still see the way she had looked to the silver wolf -- she was safe there.

It was like the final pierce in his heart at the thought, and with his anger at the world diminishing rapidly, Constantine felt a sense of calm as his dark body began to sluice through the waters.

The salt water stung his eyes and tore his throat -- he welcomed it. After all, why the hell not?