Oystercatcher Tide Pools of vagabonds and hermits

The silence between them stretched – though Constantine did not find it one of discomfort. The pale man took his word and made to perch, mimicking the ritual of the seabirds. One eye was cast upon him, curious to see if the height was enough to shatter the encasement of his meal, though his nose began to tilt down, to seek out other oysters. The corner of his mouth quirked upward at the comment, though he spoke nothing in return – never before would he have envisioned his life mirroring the scavenger bird, yet desperate times were at hand.
 
Plucking his own oyster shell form the shallow depths of the pools, Constantine dropped his prize, his eyes studying the sleek shell with mild apprehension.