Coconut Grove Wilson

There was almost no way to tell that this particular lump on this particular beach was of any consequence to anyone. Almost. There was sand and salt all over, layering like thick seasonings across a holiday ham. A net of seaweed had snagged on one reaching hind-limb at some point; now it ensnared a crusted tail. Bulbs of kelp littered the grove's rock-hewn edge and kept the large lump company, at least until a shrieking gull caught sight of something - perhaps a crab vying for shelter. As the bird landed atop the lump it shuddered, startling the seaside pest back into the air.

She was hungry, and hours of combing the grove had turned up nothing substantial. Having a few half-decomposed things that she hadn't had the gall to eat (but now wished she had) the siren had turned back the way she'd come, half-searching for some of the nasty things she'd left behind, but instead coming across a lump that hadn't quite been there before. 

For a moment she paused, examining the crusted thing with interest, wondering if this recent gift from the sea would be more appealing. She couldn't tell what it was; only that it didn't seem as decomposed as the other things she'd left behind. That alone was enough to beckon her near, though the arrival of a gull had her snap towards it with a quick clip of her teeth. This blob was hers, she'd decided as soon as the gull approached. It was not her snap that had the bird flee, however, but the shudder of the mound. 

Disappointment that this meal might not be completely dead came first; then an interest that had her dance near and gave a blunt nudge to the side of the blob nearest to her; ready to scamper backwards if an unsavoury reaction was produced.

The soft sand shifted across his body as he moved, cascading in a wave in places where it did not meet resistance. Much of the mound was really hair, and a fair mix at that; even when dampened by the brine the boy's coat merely blushed.

The bird called; something else prodded at him, and he motioned like a baby seal.

Arrêtez! yawned the lump as he struggled. He managed to lift his champagne head from the mess of rocks, shells, and grains beneath - but he did not fight for long. The sound of the voice was more like a wheeze, and soon enough the boy attached to it was sputtering and spitting, tasting damp soil upon his tongue and the overwhelming terroir of the sea.

She lurched back as the blob spasmed, paws light as she came to a stop a short distance away; bicoloured gaze affixed to it as the sand shifted and fell away, revealing a great mass of fur. Her heart plummeted; the blob's next words confirmed that this was a wolf. She'd resort to a few things to survive, but cannibalism was not one of them. Muttering something under her breath, the woman turned to stalk away, footfalls firm. She did not make it far, however, before twisting back around and stalking back towards the blob, staying a short distance away but watching carefully.  He may not be food, but he could offer an interesting tale, and the woman valued those.  

Something clicked within his mind then, as he struggled and he choked, that this was somewhere new which he had never visited before. The coast had never truly interested the golden boy. He wondered, thinly, weakly, if perhaps he had stranded himself upon an island.

He arched his head as best he could; the strain made him groan and the world spin, so that was swiftly curtailed. But he caught a glimpse of a strange tree hanging in his periphery - dusted with ice and snow but with fern-frond boughs creating the illusion of safety. He tried to get to his feet but the subtle wiggle of his hips or tensing of his limbs made him moan with pain.

The boy had not realized he was rooted to the spot, so to speak. During these struggles he came to forget about his company - the onlooker was a good distance away so that he became oblivious, distracted by the predicament he had been greeted with upon his waking.