sand art — ship to shore

[Kian.]

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Kian Ó Faoláin

With his usual jovial grin, Kian turned his head -- sea colored eyes gleaming.  He wondered if Salem enjoyed sandcastles, before remembering the topic at hand; Roan's own comments and inquiry bringing him back to the waves he had just finished. 

"Thank you, lads.  I dabble a little in a few arts. I like to think I can give Gael a run for his money, at least with sand, but I'm not so sure."  He had always thought very highly of his cousin's talents.

"Speaking of; everything's warming back up over there.  Slowly but surely.  Gael's been real patient and cool about it, so I think everything will be alright." The wildcat figured the desert would be back to blistering heat soon enough, with the jungle following more mildly after -- it had always been a little cooler beneath the canopy than the barren sands.

Fondness quickly sparked in his gaze as a smaller figure approached -- still a tiny copy of himself, though he wasn't that much taller.  "Dia dhuit, a stóirín," he purred in greeting.

As Harland spoke, Kian continued to grin, chuckling softly.  "It certainly sticks with you even after a nice project."  The faerie had half a mind to drop a real wave on himself, but if he planned on sandcastles, perhaps he should wait.

"As for how... Well, I just watch my step very carefully, and do my best to smooth everything out as I go."

"Now," the Irishman pushed his paws into the sand, restlessness growing further apparent. "I know Keo has always appreciated a good sandcastle, but how about the rest of you?"

We'll all be returning, if we sail together