Cerulean Cape there ain't no second chance against the thing with forty eyes

despite the beguiling sweep of summer warmth that bathed the shore, the nights were dark and told of a different story. at sun-fall the tides roared and the sands grew cold to the touch while the living world fell to hushed silence. the climate took no prisoners and many felt the slice of withering exposure when they dared endure the strand's nightfall.

caiaphas had spent another miserable night among the wreckage, and when she woke to the raucous calls of what bartok intoned as "winged rats" she was in a mood far more tumultuous the the crashing waves besides her. sourly she traced the offensive sound to a tidy inlet where a sarcous corpse lay bloated and brined by salt. she did not hurry towards this porcine form, for no sooner had she noticed the decaying flesh she also saw a shadow fall upon it. there was no mistaking the predatory swoop -- rather than risk injury by approaching she swung wide about him.

there was no hope of camouflage along the stark white of the strand, so caiaphas stuck out quite plainly for any to see.