Big sopping wet cat

Griffith dragged himself onto the small strip of land, his mane soaked through and largely blocking his view as massive paws just barely pulled him onto relatively dry land. He'd found hismelf on one of the small strips of sand largely unconnected to the rest of the continent, none of which Griffith cared about right now. No he cared about one thing, and one thing only and he'd led her to her death in the sea. Griffith fell onto his side, letting gravity take him, he didn't care what happened to him anymore. Crown prince or castaway, did it matter? His body shivered against his will. He wished it would just stop, shut down and let him slip away. He's watched her head slip under the waves... and then she hadn't come back up. He'd screamed her name until his throat was raw and then instinct had taken over, he'd paddled even though he hadn't wanted to. He didn't want to survive if she didn't get to!  

He'd done this. He'd been the one to whisk her away without a warning, had been the one to tell her the secret that had necessitate he take her away in the first place. The best thing that had ever happened to Griffith had been meeting her, and it had been the worse thing to happen for her... Griffith groaned and curled in on himself, his limbs so sore. He moved without wanting to, a paw rising to his ducked head and without thinking he started to slowly dry it, rasping his tongue along his paw, then along his forelimb and then his chest. But he didn't have it in him to sit up, so he stopped once he'd gotten his shoulder area and laid his massive head back down in the sand, eyes staring blankly at the horizon before him, the cruel winter sun reflecting off the water around him and forcing his eyes closed. Maybe if he was lucky he'd wake up back in his chambers, and this will have been nothing but a nightmare. The way his leg was cramping made him doubt he'd be so lucky.

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