Coconut Grove Wash him deep where the tides are turning

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Grievous emerged from the white surf, shaking the drench from his coat, without anything to show for his exertion.  His time away from the sea had dulled his old talent, and fishing was no longer his forte.  He was bothered by this until he realized he couldn’t even remember the last time he had even attempted to dine aquatically.  His tastes had been taken by the fatty blood of inland prey, and showed in his lackluster hunt for a lean-bodied fish.

Despite being wet, spiky, and catching more and more sand with each step, the wolf appeared to be completely relaxed.  Any excess energy he had has been spent swimming, and he plods down the beach until it is with casual openness that he greets the sooty she-wolf who has come his way.  His tail lifted, waving as he appraised her with a quick set of eyes.
 
She greeted him aloud, but he isn’t so chatty when the weather is warm, so he only smiles— a kind demon beckoning— and stands in place with the intention of receiving her further interest.  With his lean, tooth-marked muzzle, he motions to himself in invitation and even woofs softly, to goad her trust.

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