To the left was sand dunes, as far as he could see.
(The sky, blazing and blue, spread all around without a cloud to relieve the monotony.)
The only thing that could be kept track of, to follow, was the shore line winding its way out in front of him.
He lost track of how long it had been since he arrived here- there really was not any way to keep track of the time aside from the relentless crashing of the waves.
(Wellard glanced behind him, once, to see his footsteps washed away by the water, leaving no trace that he had ever been there. He did not look back again.)
There was not any place to go but forwards.