Stavanger Bay let me redefine god into something i can become

Rusty. Getting back in the swing of things! Posts may be clunky for awhile. ;-;

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It is with ample concern that Szymon regards his gray-eyed daughter, one ear swaying uncertainly to the side as she sputters and coughs, somehow managing to inhale a noseful of water. Soothingly he steps forward, preening the fur at her nape with gentle firmness. He wonders how to explain to her that she should not breathe while the tip of her muzzle is below surface, and decides that now is as good a time as any to start teaching her the basics of swimming. Freshwater is more forgiving than salt, in any case. He wades into the freshwater pool, remaining in the shallows that lap at his notched legs, and invites Qilaq to do the same: “Come here, littling,” he says, having integrated some of Doe’s terms of endearment into his own vocabulary. “You — you are mine now, mine and Doe’s,” he informs her solemnly, “so you must learn to swim.” His wording is a little shoddy, but the youngest Cairn was never one for eloquence. Oh, he has his moments — but this is not one of them. “We are the Sea’s chosen wolves, so you must learn to travel through Her kingdom with ease.” He gestures to the water in front of him. “Face me, and come into the water, Qilaq.”

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