Stavanger Bay with the salt on our skin

Her brow furrowed at the odd words of the sea-witch, as she had dubbed her. But she did not contest for long, soon caught up in the surreal, excited nature of the event. Her gaze fell on the one who had smeared her shoulder with the sacred red paint, she did not contest but not did join in immediately, before throwing her cares to the sea and moving among the others, until they wee painted beneath the moon. Then she joined the run, moving comfortably near the middle of the pack, letting out a howl of two as she run, slowly letting herself go to the wild nature of the run, becoming more primal and carefree.