The sea clears all

Noss · 05-18-2011, 10:50 PM

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*falls down dead* X.X I imagined while writing this that Noss is not a morning person at all, and that he had the slitted eye look of those anime characters who have low blood pressure too. I lol'd really bad XD (Btw, I know you're gonna have questions as to Noss's random bit at the end, and it's because it did not indeed happen Tongue

) ALSO! I'll never get tired of spazzing out over this: I F-ING LOVE YOUR TABLES! XD

Noss didn't know how he got roped into a 'picnic', but he went along with it gladly, happy to at least be with Strel away from the hotel and out of the sewing room. The morning's activities before arriving at the beach were foggy, having much to do with physical feelings more than coherent thought. Warmth. Loss of it. Light sounds of activity, barely disturbing his slumber, followed by the gentle nudging for him to move. While back in the Moon Tribe he had often been roused early, he had by no means ever been enthusiastic to do so, and so he responded with the same groggy compliance as he had done back there. He ate in silence, eyes barely--if even--open, and did as Strel told him with only half-awake rumbles as acknowledgment. He would wake up more once his legs got moving, but until then, he might as well have been walking over hot coals for all he knew.

The sound of the crashing waves and the scent of salt perked up Noss's senses quit a bit, forcing him to notice his exact whereabouts and activities. The fragrance of bottled wine and cooked meat from the basket was quite tempting in itself, but it still took the grey man a bit to piece together his scattered memory of the morning to figure out exactly what was going on. Strel posed a question, and Noss yawned right before he answered; the sudden need to speak required more air, and hence the yawn became more of a need than an expression of his fatigue or lack thereof. In fact, he was quite well-rested. "It is," he answered honestly. Back in the Moon Tribe, they had not been anywhere near the ocean; they had always been inland, deep in the forest and on the grassy knolls, and most of the time there was snow. The few times he had seen the ocean he had not bothered to notice it, and had only just taken to the idea of enjoying it when he had met Ezra none too long ago. With the basket on one arm Noss followed Strel with surefooted steps down the cliff, large paws stable and grasping the rock firmly. He noticed, though, that Strel kept a hand on the rock face like a rail or anchor, which posed the question to Noss if whether Strel was doing it out of a safety reflex or if he was afraid of the height. Both were understandable, but if Strel was unsure of his steps, Noss at least was awake enough to react for it.

The sand below was lukewarm, yet heated from the mid-spring sun. It was grainy and course in Noss's fur, but he didn't find it totally unpleasant. Noss smirked as he looked to Strel, noticing how the sand seemed to blend with the similarly sandy hues of the tailor's coat, although most of the other man was covered by clothes he had, of course, made himself. While Noss would not reject anything the tailor would make, he just could not see himself wearing such constricting clothes. While still cold in Nova Scotia, it was becoming summer, and wearing a lot of clothing would be the death of the warrior in the heat to come. He would have to ask Strel how he bore it. "You also told me that flying otters existed, but I have yet to see those," he said with a smirk as he went a little further and set the basket down a safe way away from the surf and near where it would stay sunny warm. Placing his hands on his hips, he took a good look out to the sea and then turned back to Strel, the smirk softened a little, if only just to make it noticeable for the redhead. "But I think I'll take your word on that one, since you were right about this."

Warrior walks. "Warrior talks." Warrior thinks.

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