Something kept him there, disallowing him the means to move on from the shore. Kubo did not understand the importance of the land, nor could he comprehend the origin of what felt like fondness for the beach. Had he been there before, as a child? Had he made memories on that very same shore, memories that were now lost to him? He remembered a friend—at least, he assumed them to be a friend. There was not face or name to match, only a feeling of acceptance.
It was unsettling.
Still, he remained, watching the waves and the beasts that eventually returned to them, the noise having grown on him.
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