The sound was deafening. A roar, falling and rising, sending white foam crashing against the shore.

Even standing away from the waves, he could feel the spray against his face, smell the salt on his skin. He felt sticky.

The afternoon sun beat down on him, draining him of energy, making him lethargic, tired, weary. He wanted to lie down and let the Great Ocean wash him away.

But he had not come here to be washed away. Tentatively, he walked towards the shore, towards the wild embrace that beckoned there. His feet hurt from the sharp stones and shells he crushed on his way.

He wondered what the humans would have made of this - this roaring beast, wrapping itself around the surface of their world. Did they run from it in terror? Or did they do as he did now, and venture into it?

On reaching the water, he pulled his foot back in shock; it was much colder than he expected. But what had initially felt cold as ice warmed quickly. He dipped his foot back in. He weathered the cold this time, and stood in the lapping waves.

Up close, the roaring wasn’t as loud. It was gentle, rhythmic, like a great beating heart. It comforted him.

He stood like this for a while, his eyes closed against the wind and sun, his body swaying with the waves. He wanted to stay there forever; in this place where his senses were overcome, and his loneliness melted away.

A haunting screech filled the sky; he looked up to see a large white bird, carried on the ocean gusts. It glided across the shore, landing on a rock jutting in to the water.

“At last,” he thought, “some company.”