Stavanger Bay Stranger Things

*skulks about*

The barrier of rock was less of a deterrent, and more of an obstacle to the intrusive needs of Furiosa. She might have climbed them and continued to the sea, had not the stringent aroma of wolves curbed and bricked her confident approach. The wicked Xanthippe stilled at the borders of Blackrock, peering through sand and stone to the imagined heart of the land— a place she thought could not be unlike Orca's Beach.

Suddenly she missed the wild and cold sands, the tumultuous summer winds, and the charring chaos of the seawolves she was born among. She could feel her scars begin to quiver, her entire body becoming pious in remembrance of every fight and every rival; every spar and every genuine spat she had ever had. The reverence she felt for such bedlam was palpable. She craved constant entropy, though had to mold such emotions now in order to accommodate the wolves here that were of a weaker kiln. The creatures here preferred words and harmony over teeth and nihilism, a fact that was miles beyond the wretch's grasp but not unattainable.

She lingered too long— lost in thought and bathed in what sunlight could be sparred through an overcast sky— surely to be discovered by a patrol.