There was little noise near to Foaming Tide, save for the noises of the swamp: birdsong, insects humming and buzzing, a gentle autumnal wind ruffling the leaves on the trees, and the ever constant dripping of water. His every step through the shallow river was accompanied by a sloshing noise, his hoofsteps muffled in the mud at the bottom. Little stirrings of the muck slowly settled as he passed, the disturbed dirt floating into the current and being whisked away. Tide felt as if he too was being tugged down the river. He had journeyed from the centre of the swamp for a while now, having outgrown his nursery and his caretakers. When he met with other denizens of the swamp, he spoke and laughed, and swapped stories and songs. When he was alone he fished and slept in the roots of trees and sang to himself about the vast ocean he knew from his naming dream.

When the river deepened to where he couldn't touch the bottom, he walked alongside it, scrambling over increasingly bigger roots and sinking into the sticky mud at the edges of it. The swamp light, usually muted, seemed to gradually change, as patches of sky opened up as the banks of the river grew further apart. Life became more hazardous, but, having no good reason to turn back, Tide kept going. Eventually the channel split, and swept in two different directions. By now the sound of rushing water was louder than ever. Even when Tide left the river to find drier ground to sleep on, he could hear the sound of rushing rivers, as if it was coming from all around him. When he slept, the gently caress of the water filled his dreams. When he woke, he could distinguish a new smell on the breeze, something wistful and unnerving that pricked his nostrils.

Soon, a new sound joined the rushing river- a whispering roar that swelled and faded on the wind. Splashing through shallow waters at the riverbank, Foaming Tide finally came to the edge of the treeline and gasped as he beheld the sight opening before him.

Waves of salt water gently lapped at the trailing edges of the land. When he turned his head to look up and down the shore, he saw the coastline was pocketed with small lobes of land, intersected by rivers that ran into the vast, moving cauldron of water. The breeze teased through his fur and deposited salt on his tongue, and a soft spray of water drifted inland on a stiff breeze to kiss his wondering face. He could tell by intuition that the water was deep- he had heard, of course, of the endless sea, but he was still seized with a desire to throw himself into the waters and swim. He knew if he did the force of the rearing waves would easily overwhelm him, but he felt the roar of the ocean not as a threat, but a challenge. Somehow, he would understand this place- maybe even learn to live there.

Turning back into the trees, his mind whirling like a speck upon the foam, Tides began to form a plan. He would understand this place. He had to.

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