Stavanger Bay with the salt on our skin

Mary asked me to head off this next round, which will end September 18th. Any impossible apperations should be blamed on the influence of the drugz. Your wolf does not have to see them, but will probably see something if they drank the punch. There isn't any specific task at this point, except that they're meeting up in the water. Now might be a good time to halleucinate, if applicable. @Arturo @Fluer @Szymon @Lagertha @Tetsubō

The bay wolves went out and marked the borders, tails flagging and eyes flashing in the dark. Atoll did so as eagerly as any other, though her smaller body was perhaps slightly more affected by the plum whiskey than other's. It mattered not; though she stumbled and swayed, the strength of those around her and the rallying of their spirits were enough to keep her going. Before long, the ring of rocks that marked the very far reaches of their land were painted red with the innocent blood the sea provided.

It was time.

With a rallying call, Atoll led the joyful return to the shores, and with the Leviathan beside her, entered the chill of the waves. Around them, colors swirled and blue phantoms danced, and the gristle that marred her pelt bled black into the dark green of the ocean. It was both terrible and beautiful to behold, and Atoll shook in the power of such a presence among them.

Eyes wide, pupils blown, she began to murmur fervent prayers to the spirits that lit the sky above them, moved the water around them, spun the earth below them. Some of the words were in the common tongue, but many were in the language she had known as a pup; that Cactus Jaw had taught her in the days of her youth, when she still believed in such things as magics and monsters. To that little girl, gods didn't seem like so strange a thing.

And in the waters, with Riverbone, rangy and tall beside her, she could believe in almost anything. Believe that she'd called that white sail from the water. Believe she could take it down all on her own.