The small woman steps into the sand with a look of delight on her face. She steps out as far as she feels comfortable, the water just gently brushing over the tips of her paws on occasion. Mr. MacConin doddles behind her, barking about the dreariness of this place. But Nainseadh can only hear the sound of the waves and the birds. Her toes wriggle in their place, examining the sand.
The beaches of home were rocky and far from the surface. More like cliffsides that Mr. MacConin kept her very far away from. Here she was in no such immediate danger, so she knew he wouldn't have the heart to stop her.

What color is the sand? She coos, her head turning in the last known location of her father.

The badger seems exasperated but, takes another glance around before answering her. "Black as the Earl of Hell's waistcoat!" He barks.

She smiles again, now in awe at the idea, though she would never be able to properly picture it. Even if she spent all day trying.