Stavanger Bay let me redefine god into something i can become

Whatever the girl was afflicted with, it was not a lack of spirit. She beamed a bloody smile at him, her eyes bright and untroubled, and willingly she followed him — but in trying to mimic him, she attempted to match their impossibly uneven strides. He would have to approach this in a different manner, and wrestled with the problem in his mind for a time — pausing as she tumbled to the ground again and bounced back up to try again. “Q-Qilaq,” he said again, not altogether sure what to make of the small sea urchin. Sometimes he wondered whether her hearing was impaired — but volume didn’t seem to make a difference. He had seen the girl respond to the faintest of auditory stimuli with his own eyes, so he discarded that idea. His next theory was disrespect, but that was immediately thrown out the window before it had a chance to take root. She was quiet and soft, wholly theirs.

Crouching to the ground and crawling seemed a bad plan — likely she would do the same with her smaller body, and they would go even more slowly. Szymon decided that the best plan was to adjust his own stride to match her smaller one, and although this meant taking tiny steps and looking a bit silly, he gently repeated his gesture from earlier: a brush of his nose toward her shoulder and a quirk of his muzzle in the direction he wished them to go. This time, he took slower, smaller steps that were more appropriately Qilaq-sized, making his gait a bit clumsy but hopefully making things easier on the girl. “Y-You are doing well, he ventured, trying to encourage her. “You are a g-g-good cub, Q-Qilaq.”