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Rosemary walked parallel to the waves—so close the surf occasionally surged strong enough to brush her left paws—with her face angled away from the sunlight. She’d woken up with a full social battery today (so rare, she couldn’t remember the last time this happened) and planned to make full use of it, so, when she heard Boots and Morrison, the ocelot quickened her steps to join them.

“What a lovely collection for decorating them,” Rosemary said, giving a nod to Boots.

Her tail-tips curled inward as she thought over the best approach. Surely, it began with getting a bit of sand wet enough to pack? So she turned her four eyes to the sea and drew a small bubbles of water. Surely someone with earth elementals would find building sandmen easy—especially compared to her, when she disliked the texture of wet sand between her toes—but this wasn’t a competition, and Rosemary was curious how well she could build one herself.

As Rosemary worked with her paws to arrange the snow in piles, the water bubbles orbited her in slow, lazy circles. It was easier to build horizontally than vertically, and, soon enough, she had a torso that looked more like an crocodile than a man. So she rolled with it, adding four stubby legs ending in webbed claws and a rudder of a tail.

She wasn’t confident in her detail work, so she saved the face for later. Humming to herself, she selected a seashell and used it as a tool to etch lines into the shape. It wasn’t as precise as she wanted—or nearly true to life like a real crocodile’s scales—but her creation was recognizable as an attempt to recreate a crocodile, which was enough to motivate her to continue creating.

PEACEFALL

peace comes at dawn, but yours comes at night