Cerulean Cape young, scrappy, and hungry

Wednesday moved, trailing Gristle but giving him a wide berth. Her interest in the ocean was not large by any stretch of the word. Twice she had found a meal grander than she could have ever dreamed of laying upon the shore, but the hunting generally required too much effort aside from fishing. Wednesday found more dead things to scavenge on land than she did by the ocean, which took more than it gave in her experience.

It was only when Gristle was joined that Wednesday marched toward him. Her own bearing was dominant, but not in a loud manner; she simply felt she possessed Gristle, but that needed no posturing on her behalf. He seemed to know it, too. The large bear of a wolf was a yoke 'round his neck he would not escape... unless she, or someone else, killed him.

The pale wolf did not even hear the question the other posed. The wind whipped in her eardrums, even though they cupped to try and catch a syllable. Wednesday looked to the other with her yellow eyes, mute interest there. She was an opportunist, and she wondered what—other than the meat on his bones—he offered.