And lakes. Ponds, size dependent. Pools, if there’s shade and I’m alone. And with people. And up until my pre-teens, baths.
At roughly 10am, of a Spanish morning not so long ago, Davy Jones rolled up to the coastline we could otherwise normally see every day. Gone were the hills, the houses next to us, leaving only what we could literally see in front of our feet. The weirder part was watching the haar move, all the molecules wrestling with each other on the thermals of the wind as they moved further and further up the hills.
Presumably the coast had a debt to pay, but did he have to do it in a such a creepy fashion?