Stavanger Bay i have loved the stars too fondly to be fearful of the night

From his post near the mouth of the den, Szymon lifts his head, golden eyes sharpening with sudden intensity at the soft ka-yi! uttered by his Chosen One. It is vaguely similar in pattern to the name-sound Doe uses to summon him, though the inflection is completely different, and he ensures his girls’ wellbeing with a low chuff that billows from his lungs and spills from his jaws. His keen hearing affords him much, but the roll of the Sea keeps him from catching every word shared between the coy woman and her strong-spirited girl. What he gleans is their contentment and affection, and his tattered ears swivel atop his head even after he returns his muzzle to his notched paws and closes his eyes once more.