Shimmering Sands "it's calm before the storm, winslow."

wolverine boy with the searchlight eyes could have this fuckin' place as far as lionel cared. the wolf clad in a deerskin patterning scowled at the rock beneath knaven's wide paw and then dragged his glade-gaze up toward the distant landmarks blurred by rain.
"i'm not impressed, brother." what stories had their father told of this place? and the brothers and sisters come before them? what yarns had they spun of this wretched shoreline? nothing was comparable to the islands of their birth, simply because the mayfair-cairns had been born there. 
lionel flicked a pebble indolently toward the innards of the shore. "wanna play a game? it's called 'i spy.' wanna know what i spy? grey. like a seal's d—" and he would have said more, if not silenced in some way by threat or fluke.