Stavanger Bay 24 karats

Doe was wet.

The icy seawater threatened to pull her in with every wave, but the dusky shewolf was - at least in spirit - unruffled by these violent affections. She knew these shores well enough by now to know that danger was minimal on this day. The surf was unusually calm. The way the waves rushed forward but seemed to soften just before they reached her reminded Doe of a father greeting young yet unborn. If she thought about it, she could almost remember Riverbone approaching Mirage in the same manner - excited, unruly, but then subdued when face-to-face with the proof of their couplings. Doe remembered a salmon-colored tonge bathing a mottled grey belly, and a soft glint in her alpha's eyes.

Contemplative, and unaware of anything except the push-pull of the tide, Doe almost didn't recognize the pale shape for what it was. Her mind told her eyes that the wolf was Szymon, but the absence of her husband's black-band markings made her good ear prick.

A piping chirp sounded to catch the other woman's attention, and then Doe began the arduous task of rising to her aching paws.