I Can't Stop Drinking About You. {Hascal}

He had swam for miles. More than miles. It felt like years of his life had been washed away by the waves. But every day felt like that without Cecily. The newly dubbed Blake locked his sterling eyes upon a similarly hued shore, his strong forelimbs slicing the water with ease. Swimming was second nature to the seadog, perhaps even more so than breathing. It was an automatic response, for within the the water - he was truly himself. His right ear twitched as water spouted into it, a stray splash from a wandering and weary forepaw. With a groan he took to the shore, legs wearily shaking as if they might collapse beneath him. He felt so strong in the water, and so weak upon the land. Sealegs he had, always. Jowls reached back to nip fervently at his shoulder, tugging at the tendrils of grey fur that coated his appendage. With a sigh he breathed in the salty air. There was a sweet scent here, disguising some of the salt and surf. He breathed it in, consuming it - studying it. Of all the places he could have taken ashore, this was not the worst of them - he knew. When he was certain he would not fall on his face he continued onward along the shore - his gaze often drifting to the choppy surf. Emotionally and intellectually he could face any ocean anytime, but at this moment his mind let him know that his physique could take no more for today. He breathed a discontented sigh and cast his vision upon a maiden dressed in rust and pearl. She too gazed to the sea, but her gaze was not of longing - but rather of loss. He could sense it as he neared her seated frame, pausing his gait several yards away. "Ahoy, lass," came his sea-rasped vocals. "Do ye know the name of this land?" He remained standing, tail flickering behind him - prepared to spring away if necessary, despite his sealegs.