Wheeling Gull Isle santeria

Komodo did not know how long he rested upon the beach — and he realized he must have actually fallen asleep upon the springtoasted sands — but the sun was gone and the beach, which had become his bed, had gone cold. So the leviathan collected his limbs beneath him and hauled his frame from the earth. He walked several paces forward but ended up sitting once more, staring at the expanse of stone and stunted trees that rose from the depths, tucked amongst the waves. He was in no hurry, had no placed to be, was there on his own accord; why should he rush to leave when the stars were beautiful and the sea was now stilled [having been conquered and humbled by his mighty paws]. 

The medicine man turned to face the ocean and was greeted by a sight most unexpected. There was another on this beach, so feathered and dark that she might have disappeared against the night sky if it weren’t for the bioluminescence lighting her fur. She was silent — so silent that no sound had heralded her arrive, not even the sounds of splashing. If the man was surprised, he did not show it. Komodo would come to recognize her soon enough; but at that moment the inky girl was a unnamed naiad rising from the waves, beckoning him ever closer; but he maintained his distance, hips planted firmed where they were. “my, my” he muttered, his voice rumbling from deep within his chest — and that was all he said.