The drawing and the text https://www.instagram.com/p/C3vpzpdotXM/?igsh=c3JyeDdtZ3NjbGxo
Anyway, he'd been living in this massive pod thing which floated half-in, half-out of the water, off the coast. It was a kelp bubble, but one that had grown beyond the usual limits of size, for kelp. It was attached to a huge slew of seaweed and had its own oxygen supply via the network of frilly, bubbly weed. To enter and exit, L. Had to squeeze through an opening when the pod was fully floating. It was tricky. L. managed, and walked the gorgeous white beaches when the wind got up, the grass tussocks stirring and the ripple effect on the finest sand, made of shells mostly. By the kirk, he'd sit on the grass and gaze down at the hermit crabs and sand fleas. These remote beaches were a northern Atlantic haven, when the sun shone you thought: Carribean. Hebridean pipes issued from the small hall on the island, the cumulus cloud scudded over the brown and purple hills above - golden plovers nested in the pebbles - merely a shallow depression with two light brown eggs, speckled in the red sunset itself a glory of bursting crimson and vermilion fading to light orange then seagreen and cobalt blue... Vast silence underpinned the crash of surf and wind whipping the tussocks. Och aye, S
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