Gilded Bay Scrubs are too far down the line

It had been a little while since his run-in with the storm. Of course, it was near impossible for him to tell time of day, save for the warmth of the autumn sun of course, and so the ribboned fellow had fallen into the habit of resting when his legs felt weary, and journeying once his head felt fresh and his paws no longer tired and sore.

As he trotted along the sands, he held a shell clamped in his jaws; gently as such not to break its delicate structure. There was no telling how his sightless self had managed to stumble upon such a beauty, yet he had managed to all the same, and by the feels of things, it was fully intact and whole.

With ears pivoted towards the voice of the ocean, he set his prize down at his paws, humming softly to himself as he set to burying it halfway into the grains. Sight was not a necessity here as the gentle sir was able to nip the tip of the shell with his teeth whilst drilling it as deep as need be. Perhaps this was not some wolf's idea of enjoyment, but for the simple man, it was all that he needed to be satisfied. Soon, if luck was still on his side, he'd have a full row or two.