A week at least had passed since his arrival in that old threshold forest.

- Time well spent all things considered ay Tilda? -

Sauntering south at a great rate of knots, Banjo found himself following a coastline beyond which murky black ocean seemed to lash and froth forever. Dusk was falling quickly across his path (which wasn’t really a path at all, it was a direction), but the buck remained unwavering in his advance - like his father’s kind, sun-up and sun-down were the most favoured times to be out and about. Skilled green eyes expanded beneath a rim of lush, long lashes as his long face turned towards that indefinite span of water.

- D’you remember when the old man took us to the beach? You were very young still. The yolk was still wet behind your ears, haha, just fresh outta the pouch. Mum’d told us not to go far that day, she was an old worry wart and I reckon she’d never seen anything so wonderful. A homebody, yeah, that’s what she was. Not like Dad. The trip was a bloody long one, but it paid dividends - I still remember the salty air, the sour taste of that freezing water. I’d give anything to have you ‘ere right now… -

Nostrils flared as the curious creature sucked loudly a long breath - it did smell exactly the same. In the fading light, he could see the rampage of white horses rushing ashore, spewing down across the sand at his feet before melting away into nothing. Nothing but wet slush with a bothersome tendency to cling to his thin, sleek fur, dry, and irritate the sensitive skin beneath. The beach was not the most comfortable place for a kangaroo to navigate.

Long claws grazed the sand as he traipsed still further along the line of water, even as he tried to lift them clear. So too did he find himself sinking whenever he deviated towards the drier half, a little closer to the tree line. Perhaps it was time to turn back and find more solid ground, loam - preferably with a bite to eat! Just as the thought entered his head, the vague silhouette of another emerged a small way ahead and Banjo paused to trace the smooth outline (no wings, no horn). He barely noticed the smaller figure travelling alongside.

“G’DAY!” he called out unceremoniously, loudly, so much so that seagulls settling down in boughs nearby returned a wave of raucous condemnation.

---

Dress | cork hat on head, bandana around top of neck