Gilded Bay lonely lonely lonely

@Kiwi

Flanks heave with wintry breath. Whisks of snow dust obsidian pelt as he walks through dusk made darker by clouds gently stirring in the gray sky. Already, the iron blood had grown tired of the chill that he could not shake from his bones. Snow had piled sparsely along the coastline and he found himself thankful for the sand shifting beneath his paws when usually the coarse, gritty texture would've driven him mad. The wind blew hard and cold, enough to make him feel like he might be swept away if he did not keep his paws steady beneath him. Roaring ocean waves filled his ears and the dark wolf strayed further from the shore, dodging old pieces of driftwood that had piled up over the years.

Baltasar stopped in his treks, weary paws trembling slightly beneath him. All he had done for moons was walk and walk with no real destination in mind. It had taken only a moment for the metaphorical cauldron of emotion to bubble over and spill. He laid down in the snow and rested his chin on his paws, fur whisked up by the wind, but he did not mind it as much now, too absorbed in wondering if he would ever stop wandering -- he was not made to be a lone wolf.