( He sees her point, her angling — that a master would wish to see the fruit of his labour at work, that no such man of craft or clergy shows face in these parts freely. Pauses, nod tentative and as he scans the horizon, landing with inevitability —

...on the spectre who waits, dark like a night's span, abyssal. He seems affixed in the distance, at once critical to the proceedings and entirely separate. )

They have a keeper. ( There, where the man in black sets and whirls his oar, and waters crash, more caskets floating. ) Unreachable.