Stavanger Bay catskills in january

The strange wolf seemed to cower before him, though he was not certain if it was out of exhaustion or fear of his looming figure over her head. Her belly lowered to touch the sands beneath her and he lifted his tail in response. She had endured something fierce for the water to spit her onto his bay. It was not necessary for him to warn her that she had not found sanctuary in his home. The Blackrock thrummed like a war drum in his ears. It urged him to lean forward and sink his fangs into the soft flesh of her throat. If he could not show his strength in the water, he would thrust it on those who walked the land. She did not belong there, he already knew. Still, there was a crack in his sanity that could not be expressed. A savage glint had struck his dark gaze and he leaned forward with ill intent. 

"Rise," his voice echoed with a snarl, and the word exited his lips like a hiss from a coiled viper. Already he had imagined keeping her there. He was hatching thoughts in his mind that had no sound reason to ground them, but they were formed with a desperate conviction. He wanted to know that his emotions were in check, but they raged inside of him like a typhoon. The wolf before him did not know the wrath that would follow her landing on the shores of Blackrock, but she would surely regret the actions that lead her there.