The trees fade to plains and rolling hills lead you to the ocean's edge. Great fissures bisect the plains and the sea breeze cuts through like a knife. Despite the Pyrian heat, the wind stings your cheeks and slices through your fur. The taste of salt is on the air and the gulls spiral above, feathers glinting like pearls in the sky.

Below, the waves crash against the stone. There is very little sand, the tide usually high enough to lap at the craggy mountainside. What patches of silt and sand remain are crawled upon by small rock crabs. They carry in their claws blue, bioluminescent sea anemones. Stray too close, and they will pinch your toes before you can ever make it to the sand bar leading to the island.

Though eerie often brings to mind dark shadows and dismal tunnels, the cove gets its name for the bioluminescent sea anemones at night. As the crabs carry them, they look like the brightly shining spirits of the damned being banished to the ocean.