he's hot, but smells like a wet dog

Approaching from the east, just off the Briar, Ronan spotted a dark shape rising out of the waters. He grimaced, his body littered with too many scratches and knicks to count, all courtesy of the thorns he'd been too big to squeeze through. Most of it was fine, but his wing membranes? Esta mierda duele un montón. Already in a bad mood, he found himself crossing the shallow ocean strip, just wanting to get away and find somewhere quiet to clean his wounds.

The salt in the seawater had him hissing up a storm as he swam across, just focused on that and not the fact whilst no one peed in the ocean to mark it- the same couldn't be said for the islands.  

Clambering ashore Black Island, Ronan glanced over his shoulder with a grimace. The swim was far harder than he'd anticipated, the water looked calm enough from the surface but the current was vicious and choppy, swirling undercurrents threatened to pull him under regardless of how hard he'd paddled. And worst of all, the coral was just as sharp as the thorns he'd escaped, adding a few more cuts to his already impressive, if not unwanted collection.

He breathed heavily as both water and droplets of blood fell to the black earth below.