The boat rocked gently as the waves lapped against its sides. It was an uninteresting vessel, a rowboat, no cannons, no sails, pretty much nothing going for it whatsoever in terms of notable factors. Santiago was lying within, bare chested (as always) his uncle's coat folded up for use as a pillow, propping his head up slightly as he snored. One foot dangled over the edge, just a few inches away from the sapphire water. The sky was clear and the sun was shining. Not a bad day to be at sea, not that Santiago would know that of course. Slowly, the waves began to pick up, and the boat was shoved towards the neighbouring island.
Why was there sand in his mouth? Santiago risked opening an eye, only to find that he was lying face down on a beach. Straightening up, he dusted himself down and stuck out his tongue scratching off some of the course granules with his hands while grumbling inaudibly. The boat was overturned, his jacket pinned beneath it. From the looks of things the boat had been run aground, and a large wave had flipped it, catapulting him into the sand.
Tongue still lolling out of his mouth, Santiago knelt down to pull his jacket free, and set about righting his boat.
Why was there sand in his mouth? Santiago risked opening an eye, only to find that he was lying face down on a beach. Straightening up, he dusted himself down and stuck out his tongue scratching off some of the course granules with his hands while grumbling inaudibly. The boat was overturned, his jacket pinned beneath it. From the looks of things the boat had been run aground, and a large wave had flipped it, catapulting him into the sand.
Tongue still lolling out of his mouth, Santiago knelt down to pull his jacket free, and set about righting his boat.