Stavanger Bay dispersal

The seashell had long since learned that flinching only got you two. Besides - there was nothing scary about the Shadow. Doe possessed it, but like Moorhen, the sheepdog was usually nothing more than scenery. Shapes and motion, but nothing more.

But it's different when she's so close. Moorhen isn't afraid, but it's hard to ignore those sounds. She is a seashell, but she had ears, and instinct that tugs at strange cords in her chest when those airy whines brush against them. They mean something, she's supposed to do something, but she doesn't know what. The next step is unknown and unfathomable, and so Moorhen simply sits stiffly in the corner, forgetting that seashells don't flick their eyes uncertainly toward Doe's possessions.