Gron sat heavily on the sand, his limbs trembling from exhertion. The exercise felt good, the cold water that still clung to his skin felt good. The sand under the soles of his bare feet didn't feel as good. He could feel the salt drying in his hair. Tied into a bun to try and keep it from his face during the lessons. It didn't work that well, strands of hair falling about his face.
He felt tired, and drained. His shirt was on the sand beside him as he tried to dry in the sun, not wanting to pull it on on his salty, sodden skin. He could feel the chill on his skin from the air, hear the sea birds crowing after their next meal. He felt like he was going to cry. It probably showed on his face.
God he was useless. He coouldn't even stand upright on a piece of damn floatable plastic. He felt his lips quiver and drew in a tight breath, his hands clutching his own knees tight, trying to ground himself, trying to not be so weak to cry in a public place. On a beach, nontheless.
God, he was sick to the back teeth of being himself.
He felt tired, and drained. His shirt was on the sand beside him as he tried to dry in the sun, not wanting to pull it on on his salty, sodden skin. He could feel the chill on his skin from the air, hear the sea birds crowing after their next meal. He felt like he was going to cry. It probably showed on his face.
God he was useless. He coouldn't even stand upright on a piece of damn floatable plastic. He felt his lips quiver and drew in a tight breath, his hands clutching his own knees tight, trying to ground himself, trying to not be so weak to cry in a public place. On a beach, nontheless.
God, he was sick to the back teeth of being himself.