Stavanger Bay blood and wine

deirdre let the sun warm her, thinking of emaleth as its rays pressed comfortingly upon her back. the trudge of another distracted her, and she lifted her head to note anothers approach. her stomach soon felt like she had swallowed a thousand rocks; for she was alone, here, and though donnelaith was incredibly close she was frozen to stillness in the first new moments of this exchange. on the open strand, there was nowhere to run or hide, and so the young witch summoned her bravery.

his query was met with lips that opened, but as she noted his fangs they parted in a wide, submissive yawn. not for any trouble! the gesture certainly proclaimed, and then, his true answer was given in a soft and lilting voice, her subtle brogue woven in: to fish, she informed, her tail curling to tuck against a hindquarter. from ocean to man she looked, and when she did look at him she openly marveled. what she saw was not hideous, but magnificent. the strength in the other was no secret at all, nor was her admiration of him. she was too young to know to keep her interest to herself, to know anything at all of coyness or of being discreet. ah, but then she noted a sharp scent he emitted, and there she saw an oozing, ugly thing upon him. you are hurt! came an anxious gasp and, after a beat, she continued please, may i assist you? the world was not short on seaweed, and this she knew would aid him. it mattered not that he was a stranger; she felt compassion for all, and whenever she saw an injured being she would seek to help.