Many wolves of the wilds had never seen a coconut, and he was not different. When the wolf arrived upon the coast for the first time, there were tall trees angled over the sand. He stared at them from afar, and when he approached he kept his wits sharp. They looked like hardy trees (once he was close enough to inspect them). Their trunks were wide, and the length of them curved out over the sea from the ledge where their roots held firm.
The first thing he investigated were those roots. There wasn't too much snow along the plateau (or he did not notice it in particular), and he nosed around the roots for a few minutes. The wolf hoisted himself across the nearest tree, claws catching upon the trunk as he climbed. Soon he was standing firm upon the reaching trunk, sniffing at the bark.
The scent of salt was an obvious piece of the puzzle. He did not dislike it, and soon enough the wolf was nose-blind to it. He took a few careful strides before losing balance, and slipped to the sand beneath the trees with a crunch. Once there, his interest diverted to the tree's wide fronds. They looked like ferns almost - but they looked weathered, ill-suited to the season.
He did not see any coconuts yet. If any were present, they were buried in the sand or had been washed out by the high tide on another day. For now, the stranger was fixated with the trees and their foreign qualities.
« Next Oldest | Next Newest »