Seaside Moors with cankered peace to part your cankered hate

The sound of the waves and the salty sea brine hid the stranger's presence from Sif's finely-tuned senses for a while, but she was far too skittish not to scan her surroundings visually every thirty seconds or so. As soon as she caught sight of the dark figure stalking (aggressively, to her anxious eyes) toward her, Sif began to bristle as well.

Teeth bared but body held lower than ever, Sif edged backward toward the water. Her ears were flat against her head, her tongue was lapping nervously at her nose, and a warm trickle of urine was running down her leg.

She was a perfect picture of DO NOT APPROACH - an innate instinct she was eternally grateful for.