It was such an odd thing. Abandon's middle was swelling, in a way he could have never assumed possible. Fat, he could have expected, but, as his side twitched with life, he shifted uncomfortably. He rose, shaking his hide free of sand, and crept out of the cavern in silence unusual for a buck of his size. His eyes swept over the beach, the Cres he'd come to think of as a kind of odd home- not an overly comfortable one, but as near one as he could claim without being back in the mountains. The constant ebb of the ocean was almost the same as the wind in the peaks, at least. The differences sometimes caught him off guard, still, and, in that moment, it was a bit disquieting. In the search of peace of mind, and sorting out his thoughts, he turned from the delta, and began to meander back into the swamp, the more solid ground than the sand.
The humidity was brutal. It often was in the summer, the rivulets and creeks swelling their banks, stagnant and still, and so escaping to the sea was one of Fish's tried-and-true methods for getting out of it. Clumps of fur stuck to each other as she lumbered towards the ocean. The kin who lived at Crescent Bay were family, and it would be good to get back to them for a bit.