He doesn't mean to find his way to the beach but that's where all water eventually ends up and the waterfall fed stream he'd chosen to follow was no exception. It had been an adventure, striding down the middle of the then calm river that flowed from beneath The Falls and following its winding course through meadows and forest alike. It had only gotten deep enough to force him to swim just once where it emptied out into what was obvious a flood plain still in the process of draining. The river had spread itself far and wide, channeled into a winding web of channels that always seemed to feed back into itself at some point. He'd been lost in that marshland for a while, pausing to rest on a silty track of earth held together by the stubborn roots of the reeds and solitary bush that had managed to remain grounded when the spring storms had swept through and turned what was usually a small hill in the dry months into an island.

From there, it had been a tumbling decent down a brook that had been more rocks than water, No clatting his way down one hillside after another until the distinctly familiar scent of sun, salt, and sand began to waft up at home along the inland breezes. As the ground became more sand than dirt, his brook became nothing more than run off as it fanned out across the sand like so many fingers reaching for the sea.

He is technically one of them. Scrubbed clean of the salt which had always lingered in his scent, he is a thing brown and bound to earth now but that doesn't mean he has to give up his heritage altogether. He lingers in the surf, wet coat rapidly drying in the warm sea breeze and sand collecting liberally on his dark legs as he stares quietly out to sea.