Coconut Grove Wilson

The soft sand shifted across his body as he moved, cascading in a wave in places where it did not meet resistance. Much of the mound was really hair, and a fair mix at that; even when dampened by the brine the boy's coat merely blushed.

The bird called; something else prodded at him, and he motioned like a baby seal.

Arrêtez! yawned the lump as he struggled. He managed to lift his champagne head from the mess of rocks, shells, and grains beneath - but he did not fight for long. The sound of the voice was more like a wheeze, and soon enough the boy attached to it was sputtering and spitting, tasting damp soil upon his tongue and the overwhelming terroir of the sea.