Stavanger Bay fury and reason

The ghost was not yet old, but with the starvation that set on the land around them like a plague, he could feel his bones creak in the mornings. He had known hardship and turmoil; he had fought many battles in his time and had travelled an expanse of the earth that he did not imagine many wolves in the Teekon could. He had found homes in more packs and clans than he could scarcely remember. But this was difficult, and the ashen brute was truly alone in this moment.
 
Long legs draped in pale grey led him along the shoreline in search of an area that would allow for him to fish. His body was tired and thin; the fur along his neck and shoulders rose upwards, making him look defensive and savage at all times. The sharp glint in his fiery golden gaze had turned more than a few wolves away from his presence. The Sairensu male did not know how to seek companionship in times of duress. He was not certain that he even wanted it, but not having the familiar blood of his sister at his side had become tiresome. Moz had always been a steady rock in times of turmoil.
 
Picking his way into the ocean waters where the waves did not roll too high, the ghostly figure looked carefully into the depths of the sea in search of fish. If he did not catch something soon, he feared that he would not survive the duration of the week.