There's a young blonde boy, about ten years old, playing a game of tag with the waves. He chases them out to sea, splashing a few footsteps into the retreating surf, and then runs back up the beach again when a new wave crashes over the shore. Sometimes he lets it catch him, sometimes he doesn't, sometimes he gets distracted by a pretty shell glittering in the fading light, and then has to run extra fast so as not to be completely soaked. He giggles and laughs, the whole thing new and exciting, to see water move this way, to not be able to see the other side of it.

After a little while, he looks over and notices the dog lying not so far away. Curious and with no notion of anything like magic or shape shifting, Erwin picks up his shoes and makes his way across the sand at an awkward, loping pace, clearly unaccustomed to the shifting and uneven terrain and perhaps even the length of his legs, which are not especially long for his age, but look primed to rocket toward the sky by the time he reaches adulthood.

He approaches the unknown creature carefully, but not apprehensively. A few feet away he sets his shoes down, and then takes a few more steps closer before crouching close.

"Hello, pup-pup," he greets warmly, but his young face is a mix of curiosity and childish concern as he reaches out to gently pat the large head. "Why are you sad? Are you lost?"