The beach is alluring, with the way the waves touch against the wet sand and curl away again, and Melchior could sit on the sand and read or write until his skin baked for all he cared. It isn't like his oak tree, his old private place for thinking, but nothing ever will be, he's starting to think. The beach is just as good though, in a different
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Comments 24
"He looks happy," the boy remarked, standing a few feet away from Melchior with his hands in his pockets, watching the animals play.
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He looked over at Melchior, smiling. "Where did you find him? He seems a lovely friend."
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