Stavanger Bay fury and reason

There was warmth in that darkness; a strange sense of comfort that seemed to wrap around the ghostly beast and hold him close. He could feel the dull ache of his gut, but it did not register in the same manner that it had before. Perhaps he was dying, and the lulling of the darkness was washing away the hunger inside of him and replacing it with warmth. Should he have known, the ash-coated feral would not have put himself in such a vulnerable situation with the stranger in the waters, but fortunes were high for him on that day.
 
There was a soft nudge against his shoulder, which elicited a quiet and shaky exhale of breath. The fire in his gaze was still hidden by his closed lids, and his limbs remained limp and useless in the shallows of the water. The touch of another wolf was something strange to him; he had spent so much time alone that he had almost forgotten what it felt like to have the breath of another touch the fur on his body. The cold wet of the other male’s nose as it pressed to his shoulder uncertainly.
 
It was almost like a dream. Floki was safe, though; in spite of the haggard appearance of the ashen brute, he was not in the mindset to react harshly or with violence.