She stood before the southern beach, bathed in the night that she had stood and watched settle over the land. Sea foam wreathed her fetlocks, and every time the tide pulled it away, it took a little bit of the ground she stood on, and gave a bit more of the oceanic froth. She didn't seem to notice, or if she did, then she didn't mind. She did recognize the chill that was creeping into her though. It started off slow, but it was steady, seemingly crawling into her veins and then from there into all recesses of her body. Most likely it was from standing in the ocean during Orangemoon, but Ampere couldn't shake the feeling that it was something else.

This cold felt spiritual. She did not shiver, despite the sensation, but she did feel weak and sick, but not the way dread did whenever it filled her - it always came fast, filling her up whenever a terrible thing presented itself. This was just...the ocean, and she was more calm than was usual for her. The ocean had always done that though, served as a kind of therapy for the wildness that stoked her every breath. It didn't make sense, given how fierce and untamed the ocean herself was, but Ampere didn't need it to make sense, she just needed it.

So she watched, and she felt, and she thought on the things that she watched and she felt and so much more. For instance, how was life defined? As the water of the sea moved in front of her, roaring with each tumble of every wave, it seemed alive. The ocean was like an animal, awake, existing, struggling. It called out for understanding, and in its communication it seemed to feel, to understand, to want. Ampere felt that this wasn't just an element of the universe, but a thing, an entity, a life.

She pulled strength from its survival. She took wisdom from its endlessness. She mimicked patience from its changes.

Ampere exhaled. The ground shifted heavily beneath her, sand tugged and her frog with it. Her leg slipped with a splash, and she laughed as the salty spray shot against her nose and pricked at her face. Snorting it out and breathing it in until it stung, she shook her head vigorously, mane tossed askew upon her nape where the wind set about to teasing it into further disarray.

The moment of serenity was not broken with the motion, or the sound, or the disorganization - because that was the ocean, and that was her.