Even with the mud squelching underfoot, Thomas had every intention of walking quickly until he crossed the sands, but those intentions evaporated after only a few paces. The fog swirled around him, caressing him with its clammy fingers and reducing his vision to only a few steps ahead. The glimpse of the mainland had vanished.
But he only needed to see as far as the next cairn, which loomed ahead as a grey shadow. He pushed ahead to it, and then the next.
Even on sunny days, it could be dangerous to cross these featureless sands if a storm blew up, as it often did. But the hardiest of monks would not dare to cross in the midst of the sea fogs that were common here, not even if the tide would not come in for hours. It would be too easy to lose your way and end up being claimed by the wav
