Coconut Grove Wash him deep where the tides are turning

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Though he preferred the deep shadows of the shadewood, and the long fingers of cool sea-breezes that raked through its green tresses, he left behind the trove of fertile soil and vibrant fauna— if only because he knew he could not keep it. Not by himself.

He would need to hunt for Others if he intended to stake a claim, which was perhaps the only thing that drew the skulking basilisk from beneath his forest cape, and into unpleasantly warm open skies.

The winds swelled quietly and the air turned bitter with salt the closer he came to the ocean. His fur rippled, and he filled his lungs deeply with briny air, remembering fondly the sand-blasted cliffs and seasalt prey of his youth. When his paws finally found sand, he noticed the strange palms trees that at first deterred his approach. Eventually he knew them to be just trees, and began to walk among them with a comfortableness that asserted he knew where he was.

He made way for the sea, eager to bathe in its chilling surf, and maybe manage a fish or two.

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