He was learning fast, or at least he believed it to be as such. Often, he finds himself leaving the den - alone more often than not - and yet he finds enjoyment in this time to himself. Each day, he seeks new things further and further inland and yet, today his mind takes him in a different direction. This time, in the midst of the heat, he follows the cool breeze to the east. He can smell the salt thicken in the air; he can feel it weigh down his fur ever so slightly, the gusts of wind stinging his eyes and making them wet. Yet, he does not turn away! Instead, he finds enjoyment in these new sensations. The earth beneath him, too, becomes ever softer, forcing him to walk longer and harder with each step. Still, it takes the weight from his twisted, gnarled limb ever so slightly. Comfort, he finds, comes from an unusual place today.

Across the sand he moves, at turns twisting and turning to look at his own paw prints; he presses his paws hard into the sand at times, admiring the way they disappear beneath the granules. Other times, he cups his paws and walks stiffly, attempting to move silently and yet, it seldom lasts long. Instead, he cannot help but move into a lope; on the wind, he can smell others like himself. He moves towards them for curiosity’s sake, driven by the instinct to find companionship and warmth wherever he can. He longs for it. Like a hunger, he feels this need in every part of his body: he is starved for love in that way, driven by the all-consuming desire to hear others, to see others, to simply watch them do as they do. It drives him forward on long, sloppy strides, the sand crunching beneath him as he spots the two females ahead, their small forms moving onto the beach as he has done.

He sees them act unusually from a distance, though he is too far away to see their initial discovery. Instead, he finds them as they sit patiently it seems; he does not question for whom they wait or what their purpose is. Instead, he merely ambles towards them, favouring his now-sore limb as his tongue lashes out from the heat and exertion. It is, perhaps, the most he has been from the confines of his home. It excites him to see these others as he takes his place in front of them, still at quite a distance. Though he craves closeness, he does not know how to initiate it. Instead, he watched with a subtle grin, his tail slowly waving behind him as he watches who he supposes is the leader of the two. She holds with her a branch, seemingly proud of such a thing. He does not see her etchings at first but when he does, he cannot help but slowly step forward, his head tilted in curiosity and intrigue. It is only then that he speaks, and though they might not understand, the implied question is there all the same. ”Quid est hoc?” What is it? What is any of it?