even in the mid-afternoon there is a thick fog that has been plaguing the wilds that the sun was unable to burn off. it hangs leaden in the air tanged with salt and fish, a foreign scent that the blackthorn is surprised to find that he can actually taste. he's never seen the sea before though he's heard stories about it. he can see it now, a small sliver of where he stands, the tide low but the waves rushing up to lap against his legs, threatening to bury them in heavy sand if he didn't keep moving. the fog appears to roll off the sea as well, and the floatsam and sea foam eventually drive him closer to the cliffs, his steps pausing as he peers in the dark of a jagged cave cut into the cliff. he casts a pensive look over a broad shoulder towards the sea, willing to bet that when the sun sets and the tide rises that it rises to flood the cave and its crevices; ultimately he hesitates unsure how tight the cave would become and if it was even safe at that.
the heart of man is very much like the sea,
it has its storms, its tides and its depths;
it has its pearls too.
it has its storms, its tides and its depths;
it has its pearls too.
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