Sea Lion Shores the halls of our fathers

Szymon watched with a mixture of impatience and bemusement as Ragna thrust her muzzle into the water and came up with a fish wriggling in her jaws; he was indeed impressed, as she had meant for him to be. “A s-s-sea wolf after all,” he drawled teasingly, though he hadn’t truly doubted her claim. The Cairn brood was not known for its social graces, and he meant his jest to be complimentary. The challenge in her bright eyes was something he could appreciate, though catching fish from the shallows in this way was something akin to fishing from a plastic kiddie pool for a Cairn. Golden eyes settled sharply upon the pool for a prolonged beat before Szymon lunged, his jaws gaping the moment they broke surface and snapping down on the silvery body of a fish in a whipping whirlpool of bubbling foam. Water streamed from the corners of his jaws and between his teeth as he bit down harder to secure his kill; he settled down a few feet away from Ragna and crunched his meal in a manner of bites and gulps. He had grown up having many meals taken from him and had learned to bolt his food without truly tasting it — now, it seemed, he knew no other way of eating.

Licking the scales from his lips, he looked wistfully at the pool again, wondering if it would be terribly uncouth to catch and eat a second one. His attention, however, was diverted when Ragna spoke of the pack she was helping to found. “W-W-With your b-brothers?” he questioned, and without waiting for an answer, he asked another. “W-Where?”