Wheeling Gull Isle he hapalua ia o ka honua,

I rlly, rlly hope this isn't trespassing...but if it is feel free to yeet all territorialism his way. :3

The first thing that the Dogo became aware of was a dull piercing in the pad of his left paw's palm, a sharp needling that punctured his unconscious state and tugged at the edges of the black void that had swallowed his mind. It took several slow, heavy thuds of his heart (he could feel each individual throb like the far away pounding of a war drum) before he located his eyelids -- or even remembered that he possessed such anatomy -- and several more before he could open them. They shut almost immediately again as a bare hint of a hiss left his lips, wincing against the soft but still smarting light of clouds smattered across the morning sky. Squinting, the mer did his best to blink back the tears stinging his dry eyes, brow furrowing and frown forming upon his stern lips as venomous green eyes fell to his paw -- just as another stinging pinch was felt. 

A small creature...a crab, the word came to him slowly, rising amidst a plume of silver bubbles to bob at the surface of his turbulent thoughts. He stared for a moment, emerald gems peering down dully at the place where its chela was clamped to the fleshy brown pad of his paw -- still a bit befuddled from washing ashore -- as its other waved through the air in a threatening arc. Before the wolfdog could puzzle out his next move, he was forced to his paws regardless of his crustacean passenger; he had no choice in the matter, his body suddenly consumed by wrenching spasms as he wretched seawater onto the sand. When it was over, he weaved as he turned in confusion to take stock of his hindleg which was close to buckling under him. 

A gash curved around the back of his ankle, before bending and trailing up the length of his foreleg -- ending near his haunch where it was slightly deeper. It was no longer bleeding and didn't seem life-threatening, as his pale coat was crusted with gritty substrate from the beaches, dried salt, and rusted blood. But it was serious, and would at least require cleaning if not medical treatment. The mute hadn't quite taken a full stock of his surroundings and hadn't noticed the scents that the wind carried to him, dazed as he was. It was a struggle for him to remain on his feet at the moment, let alone think of anything else -- for he was currently unaware of the matching wound at his temple, ruby staining the mocha swath of his masked features.

First things first, came his decision as he felt another painful stab in his foot. Getting this damn crab off of him. He had to sit in order to bend and pry the angry crab from his skin, for fear that the dizzying waves that were still sending the isle spiraling around him would make him topple over like tropical trees caught in the gales of a sea storm. He wouldn't have been able to eat the thing with his world spinning on its axis, even if he had wanted to fight to crack the crab's hard exterior, so he flung it away unceremoniously once he'd gotten it off -- and immediately regretted it when his stomach roiled in protest. 

It was only then that he turned on weak legs to drink in the monolith at the hart of the island, and the pines clustering its plateaus and summits in protective groves, a yawning abyss forming in his mind as the amnesiac tried to remember what had happened or how he got there.