I leave my shoes ashore, and wade into the water. It sweeps in and sucks away, and the water slaps my trousers againt my legs and begins wicking through the cloth. But I follow her while the net sweeps out widdershins and sinks, and catch hold of the lines.

The steady draw of the water is interrupted by a sudden jerking, something quick and lithe tangled in the mesh, and I brace myself and pull. The net begins to draw closer, and I catch a hint of the shape inside it, and I do not think it is a fish.

But I want a face again, something to know myself by which was stolen from me, and I do not stop pulling.