His once malleable spirit had become brittle and bitter over the years spent in cold isolation. He was now as set in his ways as the footprints that marked the path back and forth from his shack to the lighthouse that guarded the harbor. Alone he had tended it since her death and alone he would remain until his own death let the light go out and hid the rocks.
* * * * * * *
Thank you, Polona, for a very adaptable word!
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