Sea Lion Shores because I could not stop for death

He was dripping seawater and bile, he was holding his skull in the palm of his hands, but someone still found him.

He eyed her, trembling gums wrapped around tines of ivory, eyes never leaving her own. After a moment, he spit out the skull with a short patooy, hitting the sand with a wet schlorp.

Good marrow. The boy croaked, throat burbling with caustic salt. He swallowed.

Water? He had his fill of it while drowning, but he needed to wash it all down the right way, not into his lungs. He gave a wheezy, airy cough.