Sea Lion Shores like the day before

In a land that smelled so full as this one did, pushing his mind to the seams and possibly ruining his nose, there was no chance for a moment alone. In the bellows of sea lions or the hullo chuffs of strangers, there was an ever-present heartbeat of sound and song. For an old man that so valued silence, whether it be in morning patrols or nights spent chasing away phantoms, Karma was slowly realizing that this noisy reality was his to inherit. It didn't make him jump for joy, exactly.

Driven to speak - whether it be the weirdness of a dude soaking his legs in seawater, or what - the soldier can only bring himself to sit so much, a bored flick of his ear the only real recognition given to that chuff as he nudges his nose into a bubbling wound, seafoam seeping down his forelegs. The salt cleans better than I can, he grunts, deep and thick in his throat, and his scarred lips twitch at the sudden prick of pain deep in the ruddy skin. You'd figure he'd be over petty pains like small cuts, but the smaller they were, the more they seemed to hurt. His new company was in his blind spot, and he mocked an itch on his hip to flash the one eye that remained on his dark-masked stranger, an expectant look becoming his face. Here to snap at his heels for trespassing, or sightseeing?

Or both?