The man on the beach is known as Javier. He wears his head clean shaven, you can see he is well built from a life of labor of some kind; possibly a sailor. To further this possibility he's carrying an oar over one shoulder. It's late, the moon is gleaming in the rolls of the ocean's waves. He has a strange tattoo on his left shoulder, eerily similar to a small series of zebra stripes.
Javier keeps his measured gait along the shoreline, entirely focused on a goal. He is a stranger to these lands..where did he come from? and how did he get here?
Every now and then jagged pieces of flat wood wash to the sand, spewed out of the jetsam. A shipwreck perhaps? what could have caused it?
The constant gait slows to a stop, Javier bends down and picks something up from the sand, it shines in the moonlight. A silver pocket watch. With a sigh, the man sits down cross legged, putting the oar across his legs and closes his eyes.
"Now..Now I can rest for a bit.", he says to the night.
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