As he gazed over the cliff, the back dog appeared again. It looked sharply up at where Hester peered over the cliff-face and barked, as if it had been...expecting him. Hester, unsure how one would greet a feral hound, remained silent, examining the animal before retreating back to the grass and his pile of wood. It was mid-morning, and Hester was about to begin the task of dragging the wood from where he had left it by the hut to the edge of the steep descent, when he heard a loud stamping of. “Oh…it took some time…maybe a year or so…to get over the fact that he was gone. But that’s not what is bothering me now. I’ve actually come to view the divorce as the best thing to happen to my recovery, even though it was hard,” she said in a matter-of-fact sort of way, “Its just that…I’ve…well…sort of been having…some trouble with…you know…finding anyone now that I’m over him.” At first I was astounded. She was looking down at her lap and, for a minute, I was reminded that same sorrowful. More

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