hand covers bruise.

Denver Mathis · 07-12-2011, 01:02 PM

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I dunno, do you think he could see her from the shore? Barely? If not, I'll change it. Also, lolol @ Denver.

The places here all had funny names that Denver hadn't yet bothered to learn, but he had learned their terrain quite well, so far. For the night, he had bunked in the driest cave he could find, beside the ocean. The soothing sounds of the water churning and crashing against the stone walls put him fast to sleep, and he had felt little desire to leave. The land was desolate, like much of Salsola, but held a certain charm that he could not place, but was drawn to.

Being the cautious, near-germophobe that he was, he had taken great care to lay down some bedding for himself, to make a comfortable temporary bed. While it wasn't nearly as plush and welcoming as some mattresses he had slept on in past months, it was certainly better than the cold ground. Leaves, moss, and a thick blanket of sand made up the majority of his bedding. He felt dirty, now, though, and arose to Eris' call groggy and dingy.

Immediately, Denver made to brush himself off; the dark spots that were now beginning to stain his clothes just wouldn't do. He would need be sure to have his clothing cleaned before the day was out. Thankfully, he kept more clothes in his residence near the center of the land.

Slightly annoyed, but more than willing, Denver followed the Associate's voice and scent, which led him straight east along the shoreline, from where he stood near the water, staring out. He placed his white-furred hands on clothed hips, tossing his hair against the wind as it attempted to muss it. The Associate could barely see the pretty, pregnant Auxiliary across the waters, but managed to make her out where she stood on the shore of a small island. It seemed she was accompanied by someone; most likely just a slave. Denver himself hadn't been to that lonely place just yet, nor had he really desired to. And how was he supposed to cross?

Standing in the cold sand, his feet sunk into the ground. Annoyed, he stepped onto the drier part of the beach, noticing now a weather-worn boat that he was not for any reason going to use to traverse that distance, no matter how small. He was sure that the fading structure had holes and leaks galore, and if he became stranded in that water he knew that he would drown. The proud mutt could never admit his poor swimming skills outright, and hated being forced to reveal his flaws. He hadn't needed to learn that skill-- until coming here, he had simply avoided the subject. No one had ever forced it upon him; but this was different.

As he paced the shore, a low, dog-like whine flew from his parted lips, followed by a shallow bark. His feet had already gotten wet, and his body had begun to shake in involuntary fear. His muscles tensed up at the prospect of having to flail and propel his limbs through the cold, dark water; he just couldn't do it.

#511

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