Blackwater Islands surreal

This was not the kind of day to go swimming, but there was Sobo, legs churning in the writhing sea, clawing his way out to the island from his dream. It loomed larger in person. His breath came in great gasps whenever he wasn't spitting saltwater from his mouth. For the first time, he understood his da Njord's ordeals at sea.

This was for Mireille, or he might never have found the courage to do it. The ocean dipped and his paws struck solid ground; he scrabbled at it for a second, but then a wave came and knocked him off course. Spluttering, Sobo swam harder. Again the sea buckled. Again he found the sandbar.

Eventually he made it far enough along that the swelling of the sea did not dislodge his paws any longer. There, he noticed the dark sentinel barring his path. The sky and sea both were dark, but this creature swallowed what little light there was. The flat, faraway cast of the mismatched eyes was unsettling. Sobo coughed once, stood straighter, and made out the form of wolf. Not Mireille.

Who ya be? he called above the seawater roar, absent his typical timidity.