Cerulean Cape raised hands

with trudging step the beardog went through the shallows, heavy coat haggard and hanging so that only sharp eyes could see the starved frame it hid.

muffled by roll of waves and blowing of wind, from its dark tongue rolled a string of words that were its incoherent thoughts made manifest.

"...notmorallyfatedtolosenotrumpetswillsoundfortheendtocomejudgmentshan'trideinonwhitehorsetosmite..."

it were aware that if one were to hear them, they'd sound mad and disjointed, but it had been rotating and prodding and stretching that specific concept in its mind for three days then, the mumbling continuing even in the half-sleep its medicine permitted. it was far beyond caring for judgment of the uneducated, wishing only for further peace as it mulled over its teachings and chewed on its panaeolusi.

and so it was that when a greeting carried itself to its pyramidical furred ears, the deceased halted, the wordstream stopped, and its mouth hung slightly ajar as the silence of its own mind deafened it.

the dead turned its head until its deep-set eyes saw a dark figure on the shore, wind tussling their long hair.

the words spoken returned to fill the empty places of its mind, and the beardog found the greeting offensive.

"blessed how?" rumbled it back, voice a baritone. waves rolled up to the rough fur its belly, and somewhere overhead a gull called.