Blackbeak Bluff closer to the sky

the owl-boy is picking through the hills awkwardly, reminding himself you can't be lost if you weren't looking for something in the first place, growing more and more uncertain with every step he takes. the ocean wind is uncaring and relentless and his lungs squeeze against the cold. he gasps, shudders once, and exhales, but it is eaten up by the waves.
he pulls up his collar. his windbreaker snaps and billows around his scrawny arms, and he hobbles towards the trees.
inside, it is warmer and calmer, but he does not have time to breathe as his heel crashes through bramble. shit, he whispers through his teeth, before peering deeper into the copse with a nervous hand over his eyebrows. a woman, he realises, who looked like the most perfect stepford wife of all time.
he'd never been good with girls.
oh, um, he manages lamely. sorry for interrupting you. sorry, for ruining your day. he sulks back into a tree trunk, arms crossed and spine hunched at a curve only the beatnik teens can manage.