Ankyra Sound shovels & keys

there is the creeping chill, writhing fog that rolled off of the sea's waves; saltstone slick with seamosses and saltwater. there was the angry roar of the ocean; wild thrashing of the waves, the bone deep cold of the icy water as it splashes up along the jagged outcropping of sea hewn rocks.

it is a trek velaryon has taken many and more times.

...

and then there was darkness; nothing but an unwilling murkiness and inability to recall what had happened in the moments between.

every attempt is met with a persistent nothingness.

velaryon comes to with cool, wet sand beneath him, a lump tangled in seaweed and jetsam and flotsam of the sea. he draws in a gasping breath and coughs suddenly; unattractively hacking up saltwalter onto the sand.

every inch of his body feels battered and bruised; every muscle aching and sore but his body expels the saltwater from his stomach despite the protest of his body.

a pained groan slips from betwixt his muzzle; each rasp of breath rough like his throat had been rubbed with sandpaper.

disoriented, he glimpses 'round at the unfamiliar sound he appeared to have washed up on; every smarting nerve in his body on edge.