Sea Lion Shores you're a drifter, shape shifter

Aesop felt he had little to fear. She was strange and hostile, but small. Perhaps he was underestimating her, but at his size he felt he had little to fear from her. And so, despite her attitude, he remained friendly, yet alert as she emerged from the foam and waves.

She shook, showering him with cold and brine. He wrinkled his nose in distaste and drew himself up a little larger, as if to remind her who was the greater of the two. An intimidation tactic, though that wasn't his goal. "Unfortunate," he tutted, "you're a pretty girl. Scars give you dignity, though. Sorta suits you, I think." Half of that was a lie. If she was beautiful, it was in the way that tempered steel is, sharp and cold. Aesop preferred the beauty of a flower, and if it had to be sharp, a rose. He shrugged, then attended to her question, "just taking a walk, like old men like me do sometimes. Don't see any lions 'round here, though, so I think I'm alright."