Stavanger Bay sweet mother

He hadn't slept since arriving here, too determined and desperate to find some evidence that this was the right place to be. The entire stretch of beach he had wandered since arriving here had been littered with debris, and he knew that the same storm had ravaged these shores as well. The bay he now explored was no different, save for the presence of food. The scent of fish and other small sea creatures made his stomach growl, but he was too focused to stop just yet. He couldn't shake the thought that all of this might have been for nothing—that all this time had been wasted trying to find his way through the wrong mountains. The thought settled in his gut like a stone, heavy and overshadowing any feelings of hunger aside from the occasional painful twisting that reminded him he should eat soon. 

He would not give up, though; he would search every inch of this new place and if he found no one, then he would move on and continue his search. Something caught the sun from underneath a piece of driftwood, and Ovid rolled the debris aside with his paw to inspect the area. A seashell sat half-buried in the sand, the pearly inside facing towards the sky to catch the light from the sun and reflect it out. He sniffed it briefly before moving one, freezing after taking only a few steps. A figure approached from farther down the beach. When they were closer, he had to blink a few times before he believed what he was seeing, afraid his exhaustion and hunger were impeding his ability to see things for what they really were. But what he saw was no hallucination. He advanced forward, stopping once he was close enough to speak. I was beginning to think I may never see any of you again, Ovid admitted, his voice even and expression stern.