Wheeling Gull Isle Jetsam

Waves crashed.

Where the rage of the sea met the shore and the sun set in gold, crabs scurried. Kelp sat loose along the curves of the rocks and lined the waters. Driftwood wedged between the crevices of sand and stone. There he rested, the wolf from the sea, limp and lifeless as he was pushed out from the waters and casted onto the sand and stone. His head laid elevated, saltwater rushing up along his spine, lifting his fur against its course and bursting into the air.

His eyes were closed.

As if the sand and deep oceans itself made him, he perhaps had become one with it. The fish fought the tides, and the sand fleas burrowed. The stick of kelp touched his cheek. The current rushed in roar.