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Water, water as far as the eyes could see; water that reared up, sprouted white at its crest, and crashed back against the land; water that tasted of salt and filled the air with it. That was what they called the ocean. Ocean. That word, so alluring, it's description like nothing she'd ever seen before. She had to see it, just had to, find the water that roared and crashed and turned the air salty, despite the long journey, despite those that warned her itd be hard, despite Screech on her shoulder's hissing his distaste but refusing to be left behind.

That was how the pair started their journey south some two weeks prior, on an adventurous whim of Whicker's which had since turned into something of a quest. As the terrain got more and more inhospitable, the duo still pushed onward, though with ever increasing complaints from the mongoose half. However when they'd started their journey early that morning and reached the edges of the salt marshes, where they'd lowered their heads and tasted salt in the water, even Screech couldn't hide his excitement. He now was perched on Whicker's back, nose in the air, ears perking at every sound that might be a wave crashing off in the distance. It was now Whicker who grew more reserved as they drew nearer to their destination, for she had heard tales of the kimeti who had claimed the beach and the southern border for their own, and she doubted they'd be welcoming to trespassers, especially when one of them was a bratty mongoose. Her green eyes flitted about the marsh, wary for any sign of habitation. There, in the mud, was that a hoof print?

She paused, about to bend down to examine it, when Screech let out a high-pitched bark and sprung from her shoulders, tearing through the shrubbery in a streak of reddish brown and cream, the black tuft of his tail disappearing into the sparse shrubbery. Whicker froze, disbelief and annoyance mixing in her expression, but only for a moment before she bounded after her troublesome companion, determined to keep him from getting into any more trouble, muttering under her breath all the while about crazy mongooses and how she should have never bothered taking him in.

She was so focused on tracking the mongoose she didn't realize there was salt into the air until the marshes suddenly turned drier and more grainy and then gave way to sand, and before her eyes, with a mighty crash, the ocean unveiled itself. Awe rooted her to the spot, all trepidation washed away with the water, as she took in her first glimpse of what she had travelled so far to see. The salty wind filled her lungs, seagulls cried in the distance, and troublesome old Screech darted in and out of the shallows, chasing the waves.

Screech's antics with the waves turned out to be only momentary. There was a lull in the waves where his sharp ears heard, even if he couldn't feel through the sand, hooves racing towards him. At first he thought it was Whicker, the hooved one always scolding him for this or that, and when he whirled he was preparing to sidestep mischievously. His intentions quickly gave way to a yelp of surprise (not fear, he would never admit to fear) when he saw the strange buck barreling towards him. Instantly he bolted away, back towards the shelter of the mangroves and Whicker.

As for the kimeti doe, the awed daze in her eyes as she watched the sunset over the ocean was rudely cut short, yet again, by Screech's antics. Had she had time, she'd have bemoaned him for ruining the moment and antagonizing one of the natives, he always had a penchant for disaster, but underneath it all she was terribly fond of the little troublemaker and his safety came first. So for the second time that day she sprung into a full-gallop, racing towards Screech and his pursuer. She met the mongoose first, Screech yipping his relief as he dashed behind her, and she quickly planted her hooves, skidding in a spray of sand to stop her breakneck speed, trying her best to avoid crashing into the buck who had been just a few lengths behind.

Sand sprays from both sides, and she cringes, eyes closed, hooves still scrabbling in the sand but her body braced for impact, impact which, thankfully, does not come. For a moment she is still, almost sitting on the beach from her braking position, then she shakes the sand from her eyes and gets properly to her feet. Lightly, she stamps her front hooves to dislodge a crab or two while her gaze trails upward, then upward still, until her vivid green eyes find pale blue. The buck is tall, making her average frame look diminutive, and though his eyes are beautiful, it is a beauty far different from the sight of the sun setting on the ocean. For one, it's cold, and for another, it's hostile. The message is clear, from that glare and his curt greeting, but she didn't travel this far to be shooed off just when she'd finally reached her goal. So she stands her ground, holding his gaze their muzzles only a few inches apart, Screech curled around her right rear ankle.

"And are all Tidewalkers so eager to chase stray mongooses off their land?" she asks, her voice clear, precise, but not accusatory, with Screech letting out a chirrup from her feet as if in agreement. "We came to see the ocean; we mean no harm and will take no more than a shell or two from this place."

One ear flicks back as the buck jerks his head away in dismissal, and though she doesn't show it, she can't help but feel a little satisfied that he has no response to her question. She can tell he's too proud to admit to error, but too smart to try to justify his actions and make a fool of himself. However, her satisfaction pales to her sense of relief that, while certainly unfriendly, this buck isn't as hostile as she first read. He won't attack them, in which case she'd have stood no chance in a fight or in a chase, nor will he force her away from the ocean she so badly wanted to see... or at least she hopes the latter is still true. She takes comfort from his mollifying words, seeing them as the closest thing to an apology she'd probably get from this buck, and the tension that had started to accumulate in her frame dissipates seamlessly at being called a visitor.

"I apologize if we startled you," she replies politely, her tail giving a small nondescript wave. "I'm not familiar with the territory, otherwise we'd have come at a more appropriate time for visitors." At this point she feels it's acceptable to let her eyes stray, and they turn back to the ocean, mesmerized again as the last edge of the sun hits the water. "It's beautiful..." she can't help but say, as much to the Tidewalkers buck as to the dusk itself, and Screech is bold enough to slither up her leg and to her shoulders to get a better look.

Whicker's ears perk at the invitation, her green eyes, still bright in the darkness, tearing from the view to alight on the buck. The contrast in his demeanor, from so territorial moments ago to civil, perhaps meeting the bare qualifications for friendly, was almost startling. She was sure this was probably as friendly as this particular Tidewalker, she hoped not all of them, got. So she nodded appreciatively to his offer, following him down towards the waters edge, marveling at the feeling of the wet sand beneath her hooves as she enters the reach of the water. A wave of white foamed crashes to shore, and she starts slightly, laughing with delight as the water rushes around her ankles, her inhibitions washing away with the tide. Screech, not to be left out, springs from her shoulder to chase the receding water, only to be chased back by it in turn. Her expression warm now, a small smile playing over her features, Whicker turns back to the buck as he introduces himself.

"It's far from an easy journey," she agreed, her own frame currently more gaunt than usual, reflecting the toll it had taken on her. "I am Whicker, and he," a small motion of her muzzle indicated the mongoose, "is Screech." At the sound of his name, said mongoose paused, ears perked glancing back in her direction, and the ocean took that moment to happily douse him in its spray. Screech yelped and scrambled backwards to nurse his soaked pride, and Whicker chuckled softly, letting the water play over her hooves.

Screech's ears perk at the chittering of another one of his species, yet quickly draw back towards his head at having his clumsiness witnessed by yet another. He only spares a passing glance at the black and white mongoose, instead sitting back in the sand on his rear legs, paws on his tail, starting to groom himself dry. He makes a surprisingly expressive face at the taste of salt on his tongue, but continues at it, determined to make himself presentable again.

Whicker, seeing the two, sighed shaking her head slightly, hoping she her companion wouldn't make a scene. Her attention goes back to Flint who has now joined her in the surf, the water splashing up to the glowing bands on his legs. Yet while he looks at home, his mood hasn't changed, stoic and detached, and she wonders why he's even being so conversational in the first place, he seems like a buck who normally wouldn't bother. "You should travel," she replies, eyes closing slightly as the night wind brushes past her cheeks. "There's a whole swamp to the North, and many things worth seeing."