The waves ran onto the shore, advancing the front line, and establishing a beachhead under the watchful eye of the old man who was beaming in his full glory. Inch by inch, soaking the ground with their being, they advanced. Alas, after reaching a high point, the water retreated mere hours later, fleeing from the unseen enemy, morale broken. Wave after wave of reinforcements ran into the remnants that had been holding their ground, but those remnants were now fleeing back into the depths. This caused the reinforcements to crash helplessly short of the position the waves had previously attained, giving up precious territory that had been taken at considerable cost. The remainder of those that had taken the beach rested, their souls released to the sky to be born again in the heavens above. The retreat continued until the old man once again rallied his troops, hurling them towards the shore anew. Wave after wave poured their being into retaking what had been lost, the battle not finished. Over and over the battle was waged, but till this day no victor has been anointed, and the many tears shed for the fallen is why the ocean is so salty.