Another snippet from my developing story. Enjoy, and no sticky fingers or I'll send my hounds after you.
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"Good morning." Fingers of light crept behind his closed eyelids, prying them open to reveal a blurry face peering back into his, an overenthusiastic smile plastered on it cheaply. Dark brown eyes stared at him curiously, a hand tightly gripping his shoulder to cause the discomfort that had wakened him. He pulled his head up from the ground slowly. The tangy taste of salt permeated his mouth and sand gripped onto his face and hair, grating against his teeth as he worked his jaw. "At least, I think it's morning." The silhouette's voice was masculine and simple, the tone you would hear in daily conversations, but it was still foreign to the drowsy boy. The hand moved from his shoulder to brush the sandy bangs from his forehead, fingers frigid against his already cold skin. When he opened his mouth to protest the touch only air slipped past his lips, as if his vocal cords had been burnt away.
Water, breathing water, was lapping at his feet, dragging its way across his legs and lower torso. The gray light that had opened his eyes was streaming out from behind a thick layer of dark storm clouds that shed their liquid burden across the desolate beach. The touch against his forehead dissipated and he relaxed into the ground, hand curling around the sand to mold a handful of the substance beneath his raw fingers. The drowsy boy closed his eyelids.
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