Common

In the waning moonlight and the first pink streamers of dawn, the surf was an opalescent lace frothing over the sands and shells of the Crossing's dim beach, and Varanduil was a dark bronze glimmer splitting it at its seams as he made his way along the crest of the island. To cleave the sea from its foam was an easy and idle game, but it had long since grown dull to him, and he longed for something of value to sink his bright, blunt teeth into. He'd come here hoping for more interesting game, thinking some romantic soul might come to watch a glorious sunrise over the sea, but he'd wasted many such sunrises- and clear middays, and starlit nights- along this wretchedly beautiful and boringly open coast, and no one had come.

Perhaps he'd have better luck stalking towering treelines of dark pines, or sickeningly safe meadows- if there were soft, sweet souls to be found on this miserable beach, they evaded him as swiftly and silently as frightened deer, and it was time for him to accept his boredom and move on. Shaking out the dripping smoky pearl of his mane, he cast a last disparaging look out to the crown of what promised to be another beautiful sunrise on the horizon and swung out of the surf, heading inland at an undeniably offended trot.