Ankyra Sound shovels & keys

she works one of his legs free from the tangle of jetsam and flotsam; and he frees his other. gathering his legs beneath him, he attempts to stand on legs that are unstable. like land-legs ... but somehow worse. however long he'd spent being tossed around by the sea had left him weak.

nothing is ever free. he rumbles, swallowing harshly and wishing he hadn't.

she was right: there wasn't a whole lot of anything he could offer her. he was weak, battered ( probably bruised but fur hid that well ) and utterly and wholly lost.

it might be the only thing keeping me alive. a partial jest. an attempt to let his dark humor shine through. he takes a step on trembling legs and then another.

a sway, the ground of toes into the pliable sand; teeth grinding together in an effort to keep himself from collapsing. there freshwater nearby?