Wheeling Gull Isle The Bagman's Gambit

The wolf quickly learned that these peculiar shelled creatures were incredibly hard to eat, and once he had cracked it's outer barrier revealing the soft and fragile creature underneath, he realized that they were hardly worth the trouble they caused. The taste was unsavory and his face contorted with displeasure as he sucked the remnants down. Food was food, and the insatiable and wanting ache in his stomach was less than sated by this mere morsel. He needed more.

Thankfully, there was a bounty of these unsavory creatures ripe for the picking. All he needed was the time to break through their thick shells, and the the wolf had all the time in the world to dawdle around and fill his stomach for the rest of the day.  

The process repeated itself and the wolf reached for another muslce in the tide pool, but as he withdrew his face from the frigid water, the smell of another wolf filled his nostrils. He turned his head from where he lie, dropping his lunch before his forepaws, and saw a wolf, a female, approach with tail held high in a display of dominance. Immediately, the wolf felt a curious surge of predatory instinct that compelled him to take, but he ignored these spur of the moment desires— for now.

The wolf remained firmly rooted to the spot, attesting to the fact that the fire burning in his stomach far outpaced the one that burned in his loins. He took the muscle in his mouth and clamped down hard, resulting in a crack and slurp, before responding to the stranger's questions.  "I'm, uh—" he paused as the thought occurred to him that with his lapse in memory he couldn't recall his own name, let alone his identity or what had brought him to the shore. "Habit," he answered, filling in the blanks with the first word to cross his mind. "I spoke with the captain this morning... I live here now."