Stavanger Bay at tara in this fateful hour

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The youngest Cairn watched quietly as the odd little creature took the fish in a series of gulps, his sulphureous eyes taking in at this closer vantage point her particulars — small in size, long legs, one flopped-over ear, and vivid yellow eyes. Her low murmur of discontent bade the outermost corners of Szymon’s lips to quirk upward in a half-grin of tacit understanding — he shifted his weight to the right, prepared to turn and fetch her another fish to satisfy her hunger — but in the next moment she turned her attention upon him fully. Well, not precisely fully. The grey and cream female’s mouth hung open as she stared, her breaths stuttered and staggered in an uneasy rhythm, and her stare became vacant and unseeing. She sank to the ground and uttered a word that, in this particular situation, made zero sense to Szymon.

“Rivvvr…”

The female began to tremble, and Szymon became truly worried now, his jaw set in an uneasy frown as his own body responded to her with characteristic nervousness. Ears fanning back against his head, he turned his head toward the ocean as his shoulders rolled beneath his salt-crusted pelage in an uneasy shrug. Yet he could not help the turn of his eyes toward her despite his physical effort to look away; he felt an odd possessiveness toward her. He had fed her and had witnessed her plight, and now he was responsible for her — if something happened to her, it would be his fault. A tremor danced its way down his spine, causing his tail to quirk at what seemed an impossible angle before it resumed its agitated twitching. Only when the female blinked up at him, truly seeing him, her tail feebly wriggling a swirled pattern on the sand, did he sigh his relief.

“I’m Doe. Hail.”

You worried me, Doe, thought the pallid male, swallowing hard against the coal lump that lodged in his throat at the thought of having to introduce himself in turn. His throat worked reflexively as he glanced out over the ocean, taking what respite he could from the nearness of the sea. “S-S-S — ” he faltered, the muscles in his throat and torso locking up as he prepared to spit his name out by force alone. “S-S-Szy — m-mon.” It wasn’t as bad as it normally would have been, but as he licked his scarred lips uneasily, he turned to the female to search her face for any sign of obvious revulsion at his verbal ineptitude.

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