lessons for lost boys

Desolate squinted down suspiciously at the water then back up at his alpha with a soft exasperated sigh. "Okay. It is hot out." He relented, still unsure. For anyone else he was sure he'd not feel forced into the bay, but he desperately wished to make his new mentor proud. Small paws lifted high and slow with each step he took into the water as if he was stepping through chemical waste rather than the ocean. Once he neared her the alpha was off again, and Desolate managed a displeased grunt before attempting to give chase.

The resistance of the water - even in the shallows - interfered with his run and he found he had to use much more effort to cut through it then he was used to. His head and neck craned forward as he pushed himself to chase her, his tail lifting to try and give him some form of balance. Desolate seemed to get the rhythm, but just as he grew nearer to the yearling his foot caught on something below the water. He tumbled forward and his head disappeared under the surface. After a few moments he resurfaced, a wad of wet sand sliding down his muzzle. "Are you sure this is training?" The pup asked, lifting a paw to brush off the gunk. He did his best to be good-natured about it - to contain the anger that always seemed to be within him - and flicked the wet and sandy paw in Theory's direction to throw the goop towards her.