Spyridon had not done much of anything since he had arrived (returned, rather) to Ankyra Sound. Most of his time was spent by the sea, washing himself in the waves, refamiliarizing himself with the landscape, and generally keeping to himself. The lack of prey was concerning, of course, and it had not gone unnoticed by him. Even fishing had become more difficult, which had always been Spyro's main source of nourishment.
Today, though, he had spotted a sprig of green close to the shore, and he muttered a prayer to the gods beneath his breath. To the sea he went, his small dugout pool unfortunately still empty. Spyridon's belly growled, but he did not search further, nor did he grumble or complain. He simply wasn't the complaining type.
Today, though, he had spotted a sprig of green close to the shore, and he muttered a prayer to the gods beneath his breath. To the sea he went, his small dugout pool unfortunately still empty. Spyridon's belly growled, but he did not search further, nor did he grumble or complain. He simply wasn't the complaining type.
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