March 02, 2018, 01:32 PM
(This post was last modified: March 02, 2018, 01:38 PM by Chartreuse.)
The season had almost passed, which made everything just a little bit easier every day. There was more daylight, less wind, less snow. The light was even warm sometimes, if you stood in it long enough. But here he was — this mess of a man, clumps of snow tangled in the fur of his limbs and his wiry coat flying wildly around him, tumultuous like the sea.
He had been amazed by the big water as soon as he had found it; like a life dream had been realized, and now all he wanted to do was race up and down the shore. So, he did. Nothing could stop him as his gunmetal body cavorted across the sand. He play-bowed with the open air, snapped at the racing waves as they came in to sweep beneath him, only to rear his head back as if offended and go racing the other way.
When he tired, the man would slow down but never really stop; he was roaming about with his nose skimming the surface of the sand, his long limbs carrying him quickly from spot to spot with little effort, and at times his tongue lolled out in a heavy pant. Yet he never stopped.
As he came upon a cluster of tide pools, Clarence began to patrol around them as if hunting for clues, or something. He'd insert his nose in to the pool sometimes, maybe to feel the water on his face, or to taste the salt with a drag of his long tongue across his too-long muzzle afterwards; sometimes he'd give a quick glance around at the emptiness surrounding him, dive his snout in a pool, and blow bubbles just for shits and giggles.
He was comfortable here, settled in his position as a lone wolf by the sea. It felt like home.
He had been amazed by the big water as soon as he had found it; like a life dream had been realized, and now all he wanted to do was race up and down the shore. So, he did. Nothing could stop him as his gunmetal body cavorted across the sand. He play-bowed with the open air, snapped at the racing waves as they came in to sweep beneath him, only to rear his head back as if offended and go racing the other way.
When he tired, the man would slow down but never really stop; he was roaming about with his nose skimming the surface of the sand, his long limbs carrying him quickly from spot to spot with little effort, and at times his tongue lolled out in a heavy pant. Yet he never stopped.
As he came upon a cluster of tide pools, Clarence began to patrol around them as if hunting for clues, or something. He'd insert his nose in to the pool sometimes, maybe to feel the water on his face, or to taste the salt with a drag of his long tongue across his too-long muzzle afterwards; sometimes he'd give a quick glance around at the emptiness surrounding him, dive his snout in a pool, and blow bubbles just for shits and giggles.
He was comfortable here, settled in his position as a lone wolf by the sea. It felt like home.
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