Totoka River positivity hitting 50 levels deep

A stiff breeze ruffled the fur on Sockeye's back as he picked through the sour, salt-crusted carcass. The shark had been there for some time, it seemed, but no seabirds had come to break it open. The shark had bloated and the meat had turned, but Sockeye had never been a picky eater, and was less so now that he had no fishing partner to fall back on. There was plenty of meat here, and he had a mind to eat his fill before the crabs came to polish it off.

When his belly was full to the bursting, he waded into the cool waters of the river and laid down in the shallows to clean his paws. Sand clung to the steely fur of his back , but he ignored that in favor of washing the blood and grit from his face. Sand was a fact of life, but rotting shark scent didn't have to be. Still, the scent clung to him when he stood and shook out his pelt. He'd have to find something else to roll in if there was to be any hope of clearing his nares. The male headed off in search of this something else, moving inland toward the grassy hills, but keeping his ears tipped toward the ocean, lest he somehow lose track of the dull, grey waves.