Sea Lion Shores Rotten tropics by the sea

A sudden gust of wind ruffled her rugged hackles as she lowered her nose to the spindrift, causing tiny droplets to catch in sensitively flared nostrils. She snorted coltishly, but not without a flash of sheer delight that ignited the warm wood hues of her wide eyes. The coastal wolf half blood was happier to be there on the sandy shores than she could remember in recent memory, and she could not help but wonder with a reticent twinge of disbelief at how she had always, apparently, taken the wild ocean for granted. In a spritely display of youth, she abruptly kicked into a languid canter, sending up an airy spray of seafoam. Already there was a faint dusting of sea salt clinging to her raven fur.

The waves contended with the lengthy strides of her slender legs, but it was not their hindrance that made her stop dead in her tracks. Off in the distance stood an ashen behemoth whose golden-orange eyes watched her like a keen hawk, and while there was nothing about his posture that suggested a threat of any kind, Sassafras was understandably wary. Her dark, bladed hackles prickled in a spiky display of instinct and her head raised just as quickly as she noticed him. Jet black nostrils felt the now delicate breeze for his scent, but it was the piercing eyes that held to her that she found disquieting.

For several moments, it seemed as though they were locked in a stand-off. Who would move first? Being a young and impatient creature, Sassafras stretched out one lithe paw, and then another. Before she knew it, she was slowly slinking towards him, but conscious of being just as ready to turn tail and bolt if the situation changed. The aging gauntness of his form did nothing to dissuade her from sensing that his was a physique that commanded respect and demanded she tread carefully. She couldn’t shake the distinct feeling that she might be pushing her luck.