Description Excerpt

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General Gyte sits on the pier. Before him the infinite sea. If Gyte could, he’d be anything of the sea, for the sea’s conquered be matched by no man. Gyte however, will have himself separated from the repelling title of man, and given the title of a force — fear itself to those who wish to disobey its command. The sea’s perpetual wearing down the land, its unrelenting waves that pull more to the sea with each hit. They start with a gradual, faint drumroll with a slowly growing intensity soon accompanied by a hushed hiss. Both rapidly build until the hiss engulfs, bringing a grainy slam. Then, silence until the drumroll returns. To Gyte, an elegant beauty.