Pale sand and the occasional cutting shell (footfuqqs) gave way to a good forty yards of gray boulders, smooth and dark, where the ocean had buffed it to a shine, the stone grudgingly revealing marbled swirls to the hidden places where crabs scuttled when the tide was low, where little fish darted about in a perpetual frenzy, when the tide was at its apex.Įach of the massive stones jealously hid their sparkle-dust whorls beneath a bloodthirsty and shark's-tooth-white ring of innocent looking barnacles. Were one to inquire of him his destination, he would likely sniff, scan the shore with a broad and wavering sweep of the tusks and announce that he was headed for Fuck It.

His shadow was near-invisible in the dim light. 'Trayzee! Fy trayzee enpeelinso lonleeeee! Fy trayzee! Trazee hen peelinso gooooo!'įyve stumbled along the rocky coastline between Ratchet and the Southfury River.