sunburned

The beach was still something of a novelty. He had, from time to time, been posted near to the sea but he'd never really had time to linger on the shore. Most recently, all they'd been trying to do was escape the sand, but now he had time to sit and to take it in. Today, he was sat in the sand with a sketchbook, drawing Iskierka from memory. Between his arm and the fairness of his skin, he hasn't dared to strip off his shirt, but it's light and it's loose and it'll do.

Now if only he could do something about the bridge of his nose.