At the beach, near sunset @nednewcastle
At least in the caves his short sightedness hadn't bothered him, if only because it was darkness and there was nothing to see. He wouldn't give up being on the beach again for anything, but he was growing rather sick of not being able to see anything beyond a mess of colours and shapes and movement. As the day drew to a close Wenzel's head pounded with a headache from squinting about all day, he just wanted to go back to his little tent and-
Wenzel's foot caught on a piece of driftwood, and he stumbled, too far gone to catch his balance. He fell into the coarse, gritty sand of the beach, his arm failing to catch him so his whole face implanted onto the sand. Aching from the fall, Wenzel lay there for a moment, wishing for the end. It didn't come, so he slowly pushed himself upright. Something twinged in his back, a pulled muscle that would doubtless plague him for the next week, along with all the other bruises and cuts he'd accumulated. Wenzel spat out the sand from his mouth and wiped the sand from his face and shook the sand from his clothing. It didn't matter, it got everywhere anyway. “Scheisse,” Wenzel sighed, happy that at least his dignity was intact, no one was around to witness that particularly ungraceful fall.
