Stavanger Bay fury and reason

Summer was fast approaching on the Teekon Wilds, but somehow that did nothing to ebb the chill in the water. The ghostly figure could feel his pelt prickle with each lap of the waves against his legs until they began to roll upwards towards his chest. Kierkegaard huffed through his nostrils and pulled himself some ways back until he did not feel the strength of the sea luring him into her frightening depths. There was something intimidating about the ocean waves; if he trained his golden gaze on the distance, he still could not see an end to her. Supposedly, she would offer to fuel his aching gut if he could find himself capable of searching deeper.
 
Fighting the urge to simply turn and abandon his attempt at fishing, the ash-coated brute caught a flicker of movement from the corner of his gaze. Darting fiery optics down the coast a bit, he locked his sights with a figure of similar coloring; smoke and charcoal. It seemed as though this stranger was keen to simply watch Kierkegaard. The ragged fur along his neck and shoulders was tugged upward with a brush of wind, and with it came the overpowering scent of brine and a foreign pack aroma that he could only assume belonged to the strange wolf.
 
Unsure of himself and whether or not he was willing to traverse down the beach to seek out this other scavenger, Kierke hunkered his head down towards the waters and peered at the silver-coated wolf with a hint of curiosity in his eyes. If there was a chance that this stranger was proficient in the waters, the Sairensu male could learn from watching.