Sea Lion Shores smite him with the edge of the sword

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the salt -- it tasted of mysterious things, of places armand had never seen and would never visit. and still he lay there all the same, content in himself and his prone nature, the sound of the giddy surf in his ears. here would be a pleasant place to breathe his last — this was not the warm sea of his childhood, but oceans nevertheless reminded him of his time in the artistry-decked halls of that opulent place, of his fellows, their voices lifted in song. of -- his mind shied from the name.
armand felt a gaze upon him, and lifted himself gingerly to his paws. there came a violent  breeze to cut through the pelt he had not known was wet from the surf. and so he gasped, and danced away in a contorted fashion from the waves, turning until his eyes came to rest on the large sable beast who stood farther down the beach in watchful repose. armand was curious, and perhaps stupid in hs madness — he let his strides bear him carefully toward the wolf, until the other grew in size and ferocity. 
at length he held still, his eyes tracing the rib-markings of silver upon the other's coat, the fierce eyes, the proud stance. was this world so full of strong and savage men? armand wondered, but he did not speak. it was not his place to do so — was this stretch of sand the man's possession, for he stood as if he commanded the sea.[/tr][/td][/table]