It was an interesting shape worn by the elements, but there was no cave, no treasure, and I sat in the hollow staring down at the ant-like diggers in the olive grove below, kicking at the dust.

As we watched her flicking away the soil with precision, working around the phalanges and metacarpals, I realised I was squeezing Tom’s fingers, feeling the dense matter beneath the skin, kneading his knuckle bones.

‘Lava,’ I said, pointing behind us towards a distant hazy spectre, its peak hidden beneath a bank of cloud. ‘Imagine the hiss when it first met the sea.’

Drawings 2019-21