Emerging from the fog bank, the Beatrix appeared before them, a sleeping leviathan suddenly filling their vision in the twilight of a late-summer morning. She was one of the new models of commercial bottom trawler, easily eight times larger than Niall’s father’s boat, An Saighdiúir. The pink-orange halo of the impending sunrise at their backs reflected in the windows on the bridge, and this was as close to a sign of life as he could see. “Christ, look at the...
