He was always chasing water. It was what he was used to, what he was comfortable with. It gave life, and took it away, and offered him solace in these foreign lands.
The long-legged youth still did not have a destination in mind, and continued to walk until he deemed he had gone far enough. He would stop when his paws grew tired, as he did not want to overwork them, and would continue once he had rested enough. He kept to himself, avoiding interactions as much as possible to minimize unnecessary stops.
The boy was acting like he was in a hurry, but he was not. He never was.
Truthfully he was enjoying his travels; relishing in the new scenery despite how different—and foreign—it was from the coast he had known since birth. Home. Well, it was home. Now he was not even sure he knew how to make it back. Not that it mattered; he had no intention of returning to the coast no matter how much he loved it. There was always more to see. More to explore. And until his paws grew tired he would continue, heading in whatever direction his body gravitated in.
Sequoia hovered near the shore of the frozen lake, the fresh layer of snow pooling around his ankles. A soft frown traced his dark features as he debated testing his luck (and weight) on the frozen surface to explore one of the islands.