Firefly Glen sailed out of harwich

@Hydra

The rolling sea paled in comparison to the billowing clouds, most of which appeared as if they'd sucked the air right out of the atmosphere and held it deep within their thick, dark bodies; eddies of bulbous white drifted, collided, swirled together as if the air was angry, possessed by the spirit of a wild sea that demanded to be returned to the earth. Soon enough the sky was ripping — there came a mighty yawn, a spidering light, and then the world was engulphed by the raging typhoon of the spring storm.

— —

The flash of light caught in his amber eyes as they flew open, glassy from the dream. He could still hear the booming of the waves upon stone — the flash of light he thought was lightning turned out to be the sun cutting sharply through an array of leaves in the canopy. His pupil contracts on contact and he, huffing and puffing, tilts his head in to the shade with a grimace. The wolf rolled from one side to the other, propped himself up on his belly, and tried to stand.

As soon as his long limbs were propped beneath his haggard body he felt a little better; however, as he lifted himself hastily to his feet, the world began to spin around him. He got glimpses of vibrant foliage — plants that he'd never seen before, things that would never survive along the harsh coast — and as he took one stumbling step, he was acutely aware of how much his head was pounding.

The ground was then, rather suddenly, coming closer and closer. He smacked his chin as he went down; the next boom was a dull thump as his body hit the dirt, and around him there was a cacophony as hidden birds took flight, spooked by his presence. He moans, rolling over to his back, and can be heard mumbling: Feckin' — tha's the last time I drink yer grog, Ripper. Goddamn pissbaby — urrghh... Although the individual he's referring to doesn't seem to be present.