The Sentinels after delacroix

rolled a success, dunno what the animal is. open to @Deirdre if you wanna spree??

He returned with the rest of them, on Lasher's lagging heel, but before reaching the forest of gargantuan trees he deviated. Nothing caused him to do this, he simply did it. Followed an errant path down and away from the ridge that led in to the heart of home. The edge of the world beckoned to him - the sea, the bludgeoning beat of the ocean upon the cliffside. It was a humid day and the humidity frizzed the fine hairs of his pelt; the ocean was stupefied, lulling to and fro as if asleep, and the tired boy felt a kinship with it for just a moment.

As Renoir followed the sandbar he stared groggily out at the swatch of blue, and eventually came to a halt next to a half-buried tree. Perhaps it had died and been washed from its home? Perhaps it had fallen from the forest and been rooted anew in the sand. It was upside down, of that he was certain - the roots sprawling overhead where there should have been a great bough. It was sun-bleached and old, the tones upon its stripped body (bare of any bark) was similar to the buttery gold of his own coat. He smiled, and leaned upon it.

At this point, Renoir thought he heard something. A bleating? No - but it was something alive, and he could discern the sound through the groaning of the waves. He lifted himself free of the sand and began to plot a course around the massive upside-down monument, but did not have to go far. Just beyond him, caught among the barnacled slabs of stone, there was a calf. Of what sort he could not identify, as he was not a hunter. But the creature was lodged against the rocks and crying, wailing even, pleading to the fates for freedom.

With the failure of their westward journey hot within his mind, Renoir did not think twice about advancing upon the soaking creature; his teeth shone brightly, and he, juxtaposed and gold against the blue of the ocean, would soon bring the much needed food back to Donnelaith.