Looking Down on Whitehaven

My protagonist, Stag Liddell, has a problem to solve. He’s walking down the cliff after his stint at the Wellington pit and pauses to survey the town spread out beneath him. He sees the slate roofs, the ships being serviced in the harbour, the sailors and townsfolk going about their business, just as they always do. He hears the seagulls mewing overhead, and watches them landing, their fat bodies unstable on spindly legs. They are forever rummaging for food. The smell of the sea, constantly present, is neither sharper nor sweeter. What he can’t see is anything different, yet everything is different for him, because he knows something he doesn’t want to know.

My work in progress has gone for copy edit. We are getting nearer to the big reveal.

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