@O'Mally
late evening, cloudy, 34F
His apparently aimless searching of the shoreline was halted as he came upon a large, round object half buried in the sand. He used his nose to shift it back and forth in the sand a few times before finally using his paw to pull the thing towards him. A few pulls and it was free of the sand and teetering a bit at his feet. Lynford sniffed it—it smelled like food but when he tested the coarse, hairy coating with his teeth, it tasted like anything but food. It was intriguing but not enough to exert anymore of his energy on figuring out what it was.
He started to walk again, abandoning the object in the sand and heading towards the line of chilly sea water. He walked in until his paws were completely covered and then turned to continue his search down the beach.
Unexpectedly, or perhaps expectantly so, O’Mally finds himself doing the exact same thing as the other — exploring the coast. It really just goes on forever, just like these odd lands he’s found himself in. His fur has curled horribly due to wading into the ocean too much. It happens every time. He looks more like a fucking poodle at this point than wolf, or maybe even a newborn lamb. Though he jests, his fur is at best attractively wavey. It only adds to his endless supply of charm and handsomeness and he’s not in short supply.
While he wanders the ocean he prays too. He has naught else to do. He must repent, confess, and praise God. So as he walks, he talks. “Oh Lord God, please hear my prayers that I sing reverently into the ocean. For the ocean is a prime example of your vast and endless power.” Is only the beginning, he goes on. Loud enough to where anyone fairly close would be able to hear him.
Though as he moves, he’s beginning to realize something else is moving towards him just as he moves towards it. Another wolf it seems and O’Mally is interested. His horrid curiosity getting the better of him, even though he could just as easily not give a fuck. So his praying stops and his attention is on the other. “Amen.” He adds on quietly, seemingly distracted.
So if they get close enough within talking distance, O’Mally would tilt his chin up in a curt nod. “Evening, stranger.” He hums, his bright blues dancing over the plains of this grey wolf’s face.