Sea Lion Shores close our eyes to the octopus ride

set the 28th

he wandered a little ways away from where rosalyn had stopped, intrigued by the wreckage of the shore. the wind whistled past his ears and the water came in large ripples onto the sand, lifting, falling, rushing, ebbing. . . it was a hypnotic pattern, and cam found himself watching the waves for a while, before his attention was drawn by something much more macabre.

bones: a lot of them. assembled in a shape that vaguely resembled a body, but not of a wolf, nor any other animal he'd seen. he wandered closer, noting the ivory caked slightly in wet sand. he sniffed at the curvature, the strange, ghostly thing; it smelled only of the sea. the scent of death—

—sharp, tangy, red, MUMMY—

—was nowhere to be found. just the sea.

cam shuddered at the memories the bones had dredged up and did a semi-circle around them, eyes scanning the beach for other such specimens. for if there was one, there must be more.