Coconut Grove quam serena

The ocean was his… or so he felt.
 
Skellige had known from his birth that the great tides were to be his calling. The crashing of the waves was like a familiar melody against the length of his inky ears. Though the leviathan did not claim the land on which they stood, he felt as though he had a right to every inch of it. For if the sea were to caress the shores with her loving touch, he belonged there as her king. The wraith was much more than a child of the swell. He was a walking part of her. While he had no place to claim all that she touched, he felt in his soul that it was his right and his fate.
 
As the female drew her muzzle toward the grounds beneath them – an inquiring expression upon her features – his brows were furrowed forward and a gentle wind touched the jagged furs along his neck and shoulders. How was he to answer her without divulging the truth of the matter; that he had claim to a land not far from where they stood, but his heart still belonged to every inch of her beauty. It was difficult to express verbally or non.
 
A bow of his skull had been decided, and he dipped it only slightly for her. Skellige would not waver in his beliefs. The sea belonged to him.