Deepwood Weald and between offering and banquet

sky grey with thick ominous clouds that block the sunlight carry with it the soft rumble of distant thunder when he is judged in the court of the sea and found unworthy by the seagoddess of lore; flung from the angry waves frothing with seafoam like the piece of driftwood he was draped unelegantly over.

that was hours ago.

when he wakes his pelage is caked in sand and he coughs up torrents of saltwater —

throat raw and burning and tongue coppery with the taste of salt; head cottony and path clumsy and wobbly like a sailor that has yet to get his landlegs.

his muscles are weak and scream with exertion but survival make her demands of him; pushing and pressing. he drinks from a puddle; his thirst is endless ...until he vomits it back up into a watery puddle at his paws. he licks his jowls and tries again; slower this time.

where there should be familiarity in the unfortunate event; the rasping breaths of throat raw from unforgiving seawater only feels unwelcome as does the ache in his belly from saltwater and lack of food for a few days. there is only survival whispering in his ear; guiding him with patient nudges that while have his best interest at heart are commanding.