Stavanger Bay Off the cliff she tumbled

A final heave and her lungs felt relatively clear of fluid. She groaned softly, still not willing to drag her wrenched form up the sand. Such was her disorientation, she didn't notice the woman until she begun to speak, only then was the woman noted of her presence. Her fur, normally meticulously groomed, was sodden and crusted with salt and sand, a good word to describe her at the moment would be disheveled. Between her breaths, she managed to squeeze in a single, clipped word. "Skatá"

It was a few more moments before she finally stood, eyeing the other with her bright gaze. Her molten gold optics watched the other for a moment, before simply nodding, to tired to do much else. She swayed on her rubbery legs, feeling very much like she'd like to take a nap. Somewhere, in the back of her mind, a voice screamed. Why was she allowing this pitiful wolf, of all creatures, to aid her?