The Sentinels enfants jouant a la balle

@Emaleth

Finally, he ventured closer to the sea. It was a magnificent thing. Such force, such power, such color, never just one and never for long; there were thick blacks, intense teals, vibrant blues and then the whites were never pure white. Renoir stood along an oceanside ridge and stared down at the sea, in awe of it, even though there were insectoid carcasses washing ashore. They tumbled with the sand and lodged between stones, many having been pummeled to nothing against them, and there were piles of them being driven up the sand bar. The yellow-green of their bodies was putrescent, and in Renoir's eyes, destroyed an otherwise idyllic scene.